


tell me your real name - dreamnotfound

by gabeitch



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: 1.17 Caves & Cliffs Update (Minecraft), Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Alternative Universe - Kingdom, Denial of Feelings, Enemies, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Gay, Georgewastaken, I'm Sorry, Knight George | GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Light Angst, Love/Hate, M/M, Minecraft, Mocking, Power Bottom GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Swearing, The Nether (Minecraft), Thief Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Top Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), dreamnotfound
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-19
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-17 21:20:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 44,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28855758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gabeitch/pseuds/gabeitch
Summary: ((ONGOING - updates are every 4-5 days!))Dream is the Kingdom's most wanted thief.George is a Hunter sent to kill him, King's orders.When George makes the rash decision to follow him into a ravine, the two men are stuck together, forced to survive the strange and endless caves.The caves are dangerous, full of venomous spiders, dead ends, lava... and are likely to kill them, if they don't kill each other first...--DISCLAIMER:• weekly updates :>• i came from wattpad w this story, my user is @daeemon :)• slowburn, enemies-to-friends-to-lovers ya know?• based on the characters of Dream and George as part of the DreamSMP, I do not actually ship Dream George as real people (same goes for any other creators mentioned)• this is purely for enjoyment/indulgence, Dream and George are characters in a made-up minecraft-based world so it's basically MC fantasy AU• TW: swearing, (mostly implied) violence, death?, idk how these work-
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 120
Kudos: 316





	1. The Chase

He'd been running from the three hunters for what felt like months, but it surely must have only been a week or two. He was running out of food, energy, resources, and — more importantly — options. 

He was nameless as a bandit, though the public referred to him as Dream and he found the nickname pretty endearing, so it was basically his identity now.

Dream sat on the rooftop of a house in one of the rural villages in which timid peasants roamed around, paying him little to no attention. He was eating the last of his berries, eyes squinted on the horizon, as the sun began to sink. His hands were bruised and scratched from his latest near-escape from the three hunters, who were after him for the very generous bounty on his head. He supposed he couldn't blame them, but it was ridiculous that the king requested his capture when he hadn't really done anything other than aid the poor. (Granted, he did this by stealing from the King).

Still, he personally saw no issue with it. He became a martyr, a Robin Hood to the locals, who chased an ideology that many agreed with — that the king should be overthrown. Hence the nickname 'Dream' — his dream was not unalike many within the small Kingdom.

The three hunters were infamous for their brutality and precision as an elite force of knights, at the king's disposal. 

Dream, however, thought they were a bunch of goons (because they never came anywhere near to catching him).

He rolled his shoulder, wincing a little at the dull ache. He'd taken a pretty bad fall in his last escapade and was likely not ready to do any more running for a while. Probably a good time to go incognito, for his golden curls and bright green eyes were a bit of a giveaway. Dream fastened the white mask over his face, pulling his dark green hoodie over his head, and gently crouched down from the roof of one of the abandoned houses. Sticking to the shadows, he methodologically fiddled with the lock, attempting to pick it, using the darkness of night to conceal any suspicion about him.

"Hey! What are you doing?"

Dream froze at the sudden authoritarian voice.

Shit. 

Could the hunters have already found him? How did they do it so soon? 

Shit. _Shit_.

He glanced up slowly, peering through the mask. His heart rose to his throat as he realized he recognized the Knight, clad in full armour made of iron. It was one of the Hunters — but with a paranoid glance around, Dream realized he was alone. 

Clearing his throat, Dream put on a not-very-convincing heavy accent to say, "I can't get in my house, damned key."

The hunter seemed to pause. "Why are you wearing a mask?"

Dream tensed up. "I'm, um, insecure."

"I need to ask you to take it off."

"You might not like what you see," Dream warned, slowly reaching for the crossbow strapped to his back.

The hunter sheathed his sword. "The mask. Take it off."

"Okay, jeez, keep your pants on." He pretended to reach for the mask, and whipped out his bow at the last second, aiming precisely at the gap in armour — the arrow embedded itself in the gap between his elbow and shoulder.

The Hunter cursed and Dream smirked, already sprinting from the village, and already growing very tired. Maybe he'd get lucky, maybe that Hunter was alone—

He spared a precious glance over his shoulder, and of course, the other two men were right behind, yelling after the first Hunter.

How the _hell_ had they caught up so fast?

His heart sunk as he realised one of them had a horse - he could hear galloping behind him. His eyes roved over the landscape, which was drenched in dark orange as the sun settled down.

The land was frustratingly flat: meaning there was nowhere to hide. Dream's breathing was already ragged as he tried to use a patch of oak trees to throw them off course, but no luck. The hoofbeats were only getting louder, and soon he heard the gleeful cry of a Hunter — the one on the horse: "There's nowhere for you to go!"

Dream stumbled — he _never_ stumbled — over an outcropping of rock, sending him tumbling to the ground.

Hissing as he landed on his bad shoulder, Dream quickly tried to recover, when the horse was all of a sudden right behind him, hooves reared as of about to crush him—

Dream rolled out of the way, gasping, eyes darting around for options. The outcropping of rock led down to an impossibly large ravine, which appeared far too deep — there was no way Dream could survive a jump down.

...But he was sort of low on options. 

The Hunter had leapt off the horse and charged for him. Dream threw out his shield to defend the man's attacks, gritting his teeth as he relentlessly swiped at him, nudging him towards the cliff edge.

In the distance, the other Hunters were shouting, catching up. Dream could take this guy one on one, but he'd be screwed once the others arrived.

Maybe he could use the cliff to his advantage, push the Hunter down somehow...

He felt the ground beneath him give way as he blocked another vicious hit of the hunter's sword, pebbles falling free and careening down the ravine. 

"Have you got him?" One of them called over.

Dream had to act now, or never. He dodged a swipe of his sword, and lashed out at the last possible second with shield, shoving the Hunter on to his ass with a satisfying _WHUMP_.

Smirking slightly beneath his mask, Dream surveyed the ravine and tried not to think too much before he basically leapt to his death. He spotted a ledge just below him, one he could probably reach without breaking his legs, and took a few deep breaths.

"Don't let him get away!"

There was a shuffle behind him, just as Dream jumped, only to hit off course as he was barreled by a strong force mid-air. Dream had time to widen his eyes in amazement as he realised—

 _The hunter was going down with him_.

Desperately, Dream tried to shove the knight off, but he'd gotten ahold of the neck of his hoodie so that he dragged down with him. Dream tried to turn in mid-air, but his air was being cut off as the man tugged at his throat. 

In short, he was screwed.

He looked down and watched in horror as the ravine wall came up to meet them — and fast. 

The knight collided with a jagged ledge of rock, and his grip on Dream weakened, who kicked away and aimed for the wall, which he grasped at helplessly, his palms scraping painfully against the rocks. He had a split second to be pissed that he didn't wear his gloves before he realised he was probably _actually_ going to fall to his death. 

Seemed a fitting death, though he'd been expecting slightly more glory and swagger.

He finally hit the ground — no, a tree — _hard_ , getting entangled in the leaves and branches, the hunter not faraway in a similar position. Dream's eyes were beginning to blur, still stunned from the impact, thinking maybe he'd broken a few things, his ears definitely ringing—

Voices floated above them. He caught the last of the conversation before finally slipping away.

"George! Are you okay?... Hold on, we'll get reinforcements! That bastard is ours!"

• 

Dream groaned as he slowly came to, his head swimming. The first realisation was that he wasn't trapped between branches anymore, the second being that he'd lost all his stuff in the fall. He was at the bottom of the ravine, and as he craned his neck to squint up at the murky purple sky, he appreciated how far down he really was, wondering (not for the first time) how he wasn't dead.

Then he remembered: the hunter. 

_George_ , was that the name? 

He was down here, with him. Unnerved without a weapon or shield, Dream rolled his neck and stretched, eyes darting around.

Just as he was turning on his heels to survey the base of this endless ravine, he was met with a sword to the throat. (Again, not for the first time).

He immediately raised his hands at the hunter and said, "Hey, you're still alive."

The hunter took off his helmet with one hand, his dark hair matted to his forehead and covered in cuts and bruises.

His expression was practically venomous, his dark eyes boring into Dream's as he said, "You shot me in the arm." 


	2. The Hostage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> george thinks he has the upper hand. dream begs to differ.

Dream really didn't know how to react. It wasn't exactly the first time he'd had a sword to his throat, but for some reason, he wasn't feeling as cautious as he probably should.

He never really took the Hunters seriously, but this one was particularly funny to Dream because he just _wasn't_ intimidating. His eyes were soft and round, even with his scrunched-up, angry expression. His eyelashes were long, too, and pretty, like a doll's. 

He forced the blade closer, and Dream finally zoned back in.

The Hunter - George - snapped, "I said, you shot me in the arm."

"Yeah, I did do that." Dream glanced around, but he couldn't see his backpack, or his crossbow. 

George smiled mockingly. "Lost your stuff, Dream? Not so tough now, are you?"

" _You're_ not so tough without your little team," he snarked.

George adjusted the blade. Dream could feel the cold metal just grazing the skin on his neck. "I beg to differ."

He found it hard to argue with that. 

Still, he couldn't hold his tongue. "What are you gonna do? Kill me? You need me alive for the reward, I've seen the posters. And there's no way out of this ravine, not up anyway."

"We are getting out," said George stubbornly. "And I'm taking you hostage."

Dream laughed. He didn't mean to, it just slipped out.

George didn't even lash out, he just went red in the face, which only made Dream laugh more, even with the sword at his exposed neck. 

"What's so funny?" George demanded.

Dream struggled to conceal his grin. "Sorry, sorry. I just— out of everyone— you're really just not intimidating." He chuckled to himself. "Like, at all."

George's eyes narrowed. "Well, I'm the one with all your stuff, and all your food. I'm the one with the weapons and you've got nothing but a smart mouth."

Dream glanced at the sword like it was a great inconvenience to him. "My 'smart mouth' has got me pretty far."

"Yeah? Look where it's got you now."

Dream rolled his eyes but decided not to push it. He was sore and aching and really didn't have many options of escape — even if he did make a run for it, George had his crossbow, and all his loot. He wouldn't make it very far.

"Give me your hands," he said, lowering the weapon finally.

Dream blinked at him, frowning, though of course he couldn't see beneath the mask. "Uh, why?"

George grabbed his wrists anyway, making him yelp in surprise, only to bind them together, painfully tightly, with silver cuffs.

Indignant, he huffed, "What was that for? I don't even have a weapon!"

The Hunter's expression was practically carved from granite. "You're the most wanted person, according to the King. I'm not taking my chances."

Dream smiled. "So, you're afraid of me?"

He ignored him. Dream watched as he gathered his things, looking out for his own stuff, but George was blocking the view, probably on purpose.

Impatient, Dream asked, "What's the gameplan, then? We're in a ravine that we can't climb."

George put his helmet back on. "We go through it."

Dream almost laughed again. "I don't know if you've ever been in these ravines, but they are endless. Seriously."

"Shut up, or I'll burn your stuff." He eyed Dream. "Or better yet, I'll shoot you in the arm."

Dream blinked at him, mouth open as if about to rebuke him, but no sound came out.

George just sighed. "Follow me, hostage."

•

George had _no_ idea how to handle this man, especially alone. 

With his teammates, Sap and Bad (their own nicknames as Hunters — George never got the appeal), it was always them working together to catch the son of a bitch and always being outsmarted, and sharing a mutual hatred for him — but now, he had Dream.

He had him in cuffs, for gods' sakes. And yet somehow he was still unsure-footed and intimidated, and pretty much inarticulate around him. 

He was so _infuriating_. Just looking at him made George want to scrap any chance of reward money and kill him. 

The man was humming to himself with a self-satisfied smirk on his face, looking up around the ravine as if admiring a painting. 

It was dark, dark enough that George could barely see three feet ahead of him, and kept stumbling over rocks. He glanced up at the stars, wondering if he should stop to rest. His armour had broken most of the fall, but he was still pretty sore. Plus, he'd been ignoring the wound just above his elbow and it was starting to throb — probably infected.

He looked up to say they should stop, and noticed for the first time that Dream was limping. He hated the guilt he felt rise in his gut - it should feel good to see him weak and hurt after all the havoc he wreaked. He almost wanted to suck out any sympathy he felt, but it nagged him there, in the pit of his stomach.

Sighing loudly, he said, "Let's rest here."

Dream paused, glancing over his shoulder. "What, just on a pile of rocks?"

An eyebrow rose. "I didn't take you for a snob."

He laughed, an unexpected and loud sound. "No, no. I sleep in all kinds of spots."

"Like other people's houses," George snorted.

"Yeah, yeah." He slumped down on some gravel, awkwardly sat with his bound wrists between his bent legs.

George eyed him warily, but the bandit seemed surprisingly unconcerned with his surroundings. He looked almost accepting of his position. It was... disconcerting.

He then glanced up to the starry sky. He wondered if Sap and Bad had found reinforcements, wondered how far away they had to go in order to reach the King's soldiers, who weren't normally stationed so far away from the castles.

He was on his own on this mission. And he would do it, he _had_ to. 

George could picture it now: him waltzing into the castle with Dream helpless at his side, waiting for that glorious bounty and all the prestige he could want. Finally, he could prove himself to the King — the entire court — that he was of value, that he caught the bad guy.

That would be enough, he thought. For once, he would feel like he was worth something.

He looked over to see that Dream was silently lying on his back, chest rising and falling at a slow tempo.

George clenched his grip on his sword, aware of just how easy it would be to kill him. He probably should, because if Dream ever got away, George would be next on his kill list, and he wouldn't last long.


	3. Mutant Spiders

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> dream and george cant seem to decide on who is in control

George woke abruptly with the sun in his eyes, groggily pushing himself up from his uncomfortable position on the ground. 

Except— his legs wouldn't budge.

He glanced down to see his armoured legs bound by... was that _spider silk?_

"Hey, you're awake."

Dream was standing over him, still in his cuffs, his grin just visible in the crack of his white mask. "Have a good rest?"

"What the hell did you do?" George struggled to move, but his legs were stuck. His arms were free, but he didn't have a sword. 

He'd hidden it away in a cave above them, but of course Dream found the bloody sword of all things.

Dream beckoned to George's legs. "There was a mutant spider - you know, those massive things? They give off a shitload of string and I really couldn't help myself. It's almost as good as handcuffs, no?"

George thrashed and thrashed against the bindings, but they were extremely tight. "Give me my sword back and let me go. You're a prisoner of the King!"

"Sure, I'm cuffed, but I'm also holding your nice shiny sword." He crouched down by George and lifted his mask slightly with the sword, to show off his smug look. "But if you tell me where all my stuff is, I'll give it back."

So he'd found the sword but not the bag. Good. This was good. It meant George still had a chance.

"Let me go and I'll show you," George said. 

"Not gonna happen."

"There's something you need in that bag, isn't there?" George smiled gleefully. "And you won't leave without it."

Dream's brows came together in what looked like annoyance, though his smile remained. "I just want my stuff. But it doesn't matter to me what happens to you."

"You're never gonna find that bag." 

"I can find anything," he said with a self-satisfied expression, putting his mask back on. "In the meantime, enjoy getting eaten by a mutant spider."

He started walking off with the sword on his shoulder, all swagger and arrogance, but George didn't miss his limp. Plus, he knew Dream cared about what was in the bag, and he had to find out what and why. 

If it was important, Dream wouldn't go far without it. 

Still, George was stuck in spider silk and desperately needed a way out.

"Wait," he said suddenly. 

Dream paused. 

George grunted, "I know you need that bag more than I do. If you leave me here, I'll die."

The sword rested so callously in between his bound hands, like he owned it. "So?"

"So you won't get your bag back."

"What, you think I can't find it?"

"No, but a spider may find and eat it before you do, and... I won't stop it."

Dream laughed. "You're really bad at bargaining."

George's hope deflated. "Don't just leave. We can come up with a deal, surely?"

"Don't make a fool of yourself," he said with a little tut, that smirk still on his stupid lips. "Goodbye, Hunter."

He stalked off, whistling, while George wrestled on the ground, defeated.

•

Dream really thought his shoulder was fractured, or maybe sprained, because he couldn't move it without a searing burn of pain. 

It hurt a lot, and it didn't help that his knees were wobbly from the fall — he _still_ couldn't believe he'd survived that drop — and his body was weak from both hunger and exhaustion. There was a stream running down the ravine that he kept stopping by, but he didn't wander far from where they'd initially fallen in.

He wanted his bag. 

It had... it had a lot in it, a lot that was important to him. Not just his weapons and his food, but... other things. Important things.

If he perhaps scaled the wall, let George think he'd moved on, and then go back for the bag... that could work.

Spider silk took a _long_ time to erode, so by that time, Dream could sneak back around and look around more closely. He knew that killing George would have made things easier, though it was risky: no George, no bag.

Besides, George could be used to his advantage, as one of the kings men's hunters. He had value. He could use him, if he played his cards right — George was more useful alive than dead, and Dream knew he believed the same of him.

He didn't know why he was hesitating so much. He should leave the bag. George deserved to die, so did the other hunters. Hell, the others were probably on Dream's trail now.

Dream glanced at the blade in his hands, the white steel gleaming in the sunlight. And then he sighed, turning on his heel.

•

George had spent the last agonizing two — or was it three? — hours dragging himself across the gravel, legs still bound together, hands scraped raw as he clambered up the mountain using only his upper body. His fingernails were all chipped and bloody, he was panting and gasping, but he'd managed to find the alcove with Dream's bag in it. 

It was a worn leather backpack, stock full of weaponry and resources. 

He was furious at the bastard, and wanted nothing more to burn all his precious belongings, but knew there was _something_ of value in here, something George could use. There had to be, the way he'd reacted. So George would be smart about it.

He rummaged through the bag's contents, and his hands paused on a piece of folded brown paper, all dusty and used. It seemed to be a map, likely to somewhere important. He tucked it into his pocket, thoughtfully chewing on some dried meat Dream had found. Then he used an arrow — like the one Dream had embedded in George's side earlier — to saw through the spider silk. 

He threw the bag on his back and wielded the crossbow, adjusting his armour now his legs were free.

His knees were wobbling, his teeth clenched with the anger he felt at being trapped on the ravine floor for so long. But he was after vengeance. 

He set off in the direction Dream went.

•

Dream hadn't expected to find George so soon, but it was almost as if he'd been waiting for him. He wondered how he'd so quickly got out of his trap.

George smiled. "Back so soon?"

"You know why I'm here."

"Yes, yes. I found your bag."

Dream smirked. "Great. So we can go our separate ways if you just—"

"You look hungry, Dream." He interrupted. "You've got a sword, and yet those cuffs seem tightly shut. You know why?"

"Give me my bag."

He ignored him. "They're _iron_. Pretty hard to break. You could probably melt them, with the flint and steel in your bag. Or you could even feed yourself with all this meat."

Dream clenched the sword tighter, trying to ignore how he struggled to stance himself with handcuffs, and dismissing the low rumbling of his hollow stomach. 

George smiled pleasantly. "So, the way I see it? There's no spider silk, there's no leverage. I have your stuff. You try anything? Your stuff's gone."

Dream curled his lip under his mask.

"It seems like," George drawled, dark eyes gleaming, "you need me."

"Look, I can kill you with or without these handcuffs." It was a bold claim, but true.

"I can burn your bag just as fast," George retaliated, holding up the flint and steel.

Dream wanted to snarl at him. How had the roles been reversed so quickly? He shouldn't have come back... he really shouldn't have...

But that bag... the _map_...

And he really was starving.

"You're my prisoner," George pointed out, with authority. "So we're going to do things my way, if you want this bag."

"I'm not letting you take me to the King."

"You don't have a choice."

Just then, a low hissing sound filled the cavern, like a swarm of bees had just flown overhead.

George glanced up, paranoid. Dream looked up too, to see a myriad of red lights surrounding them. Not lights — spider eyes.

"Mutant spiders," Dream said conversationally. 

George pulled out Dream's crossbow. "We need to get out of here."

"I'm not going with you," Dream snipped, but it distracted him from the fact that a very big and very territorial spider had launched itself at him.

Dream slashed out with his sword, but was awkwardly out of balance due to his bound hands, causing him to stumble backwards.

The mutant spiders began closing in, hissing louder. Dream practically growled back, waving the blade around as much as his bound hands would allow, but it was essentially useless. 

One spider knocked him onto his back. While Dream managed to stab out clear through the chest — spider blood splattering across his white mask — another spider seemed to immediately take its place, seething, and took a bite out of his shoulder, penetrating his sleeve, sinking into his skin.

The spider suddenly shuddered and collapsed, loosening its hold on Dream. Dream scrambled back, only now realizing he'd dropped the sword, getting tangled in the stupid cuffs. The spider had an arrow through its head.

George was on his feet, holding the crossbow and staring at Dream. "See? You need me."

Dream's jaw muscles seemed to lock in place at the smugness in his voice, but he nevertheless followed George as he cleared a path through the mutant spiders, breaking through the mass of terrifying beasts with a flurry of arrows — he was good, but not as good as Dream (when he had hands free, of course).

They stumbled down the ravine, panting until the hissing was well behind them, where they stopped by a river to catch their breath.

Dream glared at his handcuffs. If not for them, he never would have been overwhelmed; he never would have been bitten.

"Handled yourself well," George said, breaking the silence.

"Shut up." Dream stayed hidden behind his mask. He was embarrassed, and his shoulder hurt more than ever after the bite. He felt it tentatively, and there was a significant gash, though not too deep.

He couldn't believe that he'd been bested by a couple of measly spiders, and was even more mortified that one of the hunters of all people had seen it. George would probably return with Dream to the King, and they would all ridicule him — it would be a spectacle. It would be _hell_.

"So, do we have a deal?" George was holding out a piece of meat, almost tauntingly. "You agree to surrender yourself, you get your stuff back."

"They'll just be taken from me at the Kingdom," Dream pointed out, eyeing the meat briefly. 

George shrugged. "You can keep your things, if the King lets you."

 _Fat chance_ , Dream thought to himself.

Out loud, he said, "I'll do it if you un-cuff me."

George laughed and pulled the food away from his reach. "You are _really bad_ at bargaining."

Huh. Now he was _quoting_ him.

Grudgingly, Dream agreed to his terms and practically ripped through the meat once George handed it over. He felt George watching him in satisfaction.

He didn't care that he'd given himself over to a Hunter, not right now. He would gather his strength back, he'd get all his things. George would be dead before he would ever set foot in the King's land.


	4. Caves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> george and dream set off into the caves

George stared at the entrance to a cave, frowning. The ravine had ended, though there were several other pathways, curved inwards into the cliff edge. There was no way of telling if they went up, or down, and there were so many different routes.

They'd been walking for a few more hours since the spider attack, since Dream agreed to being complicit. He'd been oddly silent, actually, ever since he'd given in to George. He was probably embarrassed. Or... probably plotting to kill him. Maybe both.

Dream looked up at him and spoke for the first time. "Are you stuck?"

George scowled. "No."

"You know which one leads up, right?"

"Of course," George snapped. 

He eyed the four cave entrances. Three to his left, one to his right: all embedded in the ravine wall, and of varying sizes. 

He pointed hesitantly at the one in the middle at his left. 

Dream immediately laughed, and George was so hungry and tired that he had to fight the urge to punch him for it. 

Instead, he demanded, "What? Do _you_ know?"

"You don't have much experience in the wild, do you?"

"I'm an ally to the King, not a common thief who struts around caves."

He imagined Dream rolling his eyes under the mask as he sighed. "You can tell which caves go up by the wind. You see how this one," he nodded towards the one closest to them, on the right, "it's a little breezier than the others, like kind of cold? That's because it branches out the top somewhere, that the air channels through."

George stared at him.

Dream's head tilted towards him. "And yes, I learnt that _strutting_ around caves."

As he walked towards the cave entrance, George called, "How do I know this isn't a trick?"

Dream didn't turn around as he called, "You think I want to stay down here, with you?"

Uneasily, George followed his prisoner, crossbow on his back, sword in hand. Dream had given up the weapon earlier, though he was definitely pissed about it. 

George realized Dream was still limping and seemed to sag towards the right... his left shoulder was hurt, then. A lot more than he was letting on, clearly. 

Before he could venture far into the dark chamber, George said, "Wait, wait. Let's not go in yet."

"Scared?"

"We need light. It's foolish to walk in there blind."

Dream smirked under the mask. "Aw, I'm sure you'll protect me."

George gritted his teeth. How tempting it would be to leave him here, cuffed, in the darkness, all alone...

Still. He had to be nice. He needed Dream alive. He was worth a lot more that way.

Forcing out a breath, George said, painfully, "I can heal you up. I can tell you're... hurt."

Dream was still for a long moment. It was hard to read him from just body language, but with his head cocked to the side, George could tell that he was as incredulous as George felt in proposing this. 

"I don't need you to heal me."

"You need to clean your wounds." When silence ensued, he added spitefully, "You're a mess."

"I can clean myself if you give me my bag."

George huffed, throwing the bag off his back. "Fine. You can have—" he wrenched out food and supplies, only keeping to himself the weapons and potions, anything of value. 

Dream glanced down at it. "And how am I meant to use all that?"

"You're cuffed, not useless," George snorted. "I've seen what you can do."

Wrong thing to say: Dream just looked smug as he picked up the food and supplies, literally strutting over to the corner of the mouth of the cave to sit himself down and see to his wounds.

George used the half-an-hour break to chuck away any broken armour. His helmet was pretty bashed up, so he just kept his chest-plate and leggings, using the rest of the time to set fire to some wood, because it was admittedly dark in the cavern, and he wasn't exactly confident about exploring them, especially with a convict alongside him.

The said convict was looking a lot more chipper than earlier. He'd bandaged his leg and shoulder and walked with a little more confidence, even still with his hands bound before him. He kept the stupid white mask on, even though it was covered in smudged spider blood.

"Ready to keep going?" George asked, holding out his torch.

"Do I not get a torch?"

"And give you fire? I may have jumped down a ravine but I'm not completely stupid."

Dream laughed. " _Stew_ -pid?"

He just rolled his eyes. Dream's Southern drawl was common in the Kingdom, so George's posh accent sort of stuck out, even amongst the royals.

"Let's just go," George sighed.

•

Dream had been right, after all. The caves pathway had indeed led upward, George could feel the breeze on his face, weaving through his hair as he pressed on.

The prisoner was strangely quiet during their ascent. He hummed quietly under his breath, apparently more content now that he had his own food and resources.

George didn't know what to make of him. He was resigned in his own thoughts, anyway, wondering what Sap and Bad were doing, if they were any closer with backup. He wondered if this would equate to a kind of promotion from the King, as well as the reward.

And _Gods_ was the reward a big one... he'd be comfortably happy for years with that kind of cash. He could finally move out of his mediocre hut in the village nearby the Castle.

He was privileged, sure, but nothing compared to the revered Royals. As a Hunter, he constantly felt like he was pushing to prove himself, and was belittled by noblemen despite his respected rank. _Especially_ with the pressure of having to catch Dream. It was something the King always loved to hold above their heads — _"What use are you if that scoundrel's running amuck, spreading his ideals?"_

And it was something that often carried an empty threat: catch the criminals, serve the king, silence his opponents. Or else.

The 'or else' had never been explicit, but George had seen the King's wrath. He'd seen people get taken away to be executed for the pettiest of crimes on the King's bad days. He'd seen Sapnap, his friend, take some serious heat for letting a thief escape (he'd come back to George with three long and deep cuts on his torso, still bleeding). (It was a mess to help clean, even as Sapnap insisted he was okay).

He wondered not for the first time what the King would do with his hands on Dream. It wouldn't likely be merciful, that was for sure.

But now George had Dream in his grasp. He would return a hero. He would return with the bounty reward, and some goddamn recognition. He wouldn't just be one of three, he'd be _The_ Hunter.

George hadn't realized he was smiling to himself, but shook it off when he saw Dream was giving him a bemused look.

"What?" He snapped, flustered.

"You just look pretty happy for someone who's lost," Dream replied airily.

George paused. "What?"

"We've been past this ledge three times now." He pointed at a very familiar rock on the side of the cavern.

"Why didn't you say anything?"

He shrugged. "Thought you had it all planned out. Besides, I feel like you don't take well to criticism."

George had to focus on his breathing for a moment. He was going to kill this moron. His self-control was waning so damn fast—

Wait. This was probably what Dream wanted, to get in his head. George needed a clear head, he needed to stay on top.

Calmly, George said, "You lead the way."

It was Dream's turn for silence. Then: "What?"

"If you want to get out so bad, lead the way. I know you think it's funny to mess with me, but you forget I have what you want. I have your freedom _and_ your possessions. I'm in no rush to get home."

"You want me to lead?"

"Sure."

"Well, without a light, it's gonna be hard..."

"Just get on with it. I'll walk beside you." George beckoned the flame toward him. "See. You can see just fine."

"George," he said slowly. "I hate to be obvious, but I really am much more useful to you with my hands free."

George snorted. "I'm sure you are."

"Oh, you _know_ I am." 

Something in his raspy voice made George feel uneasy, sort of skittish. Then realized Dream was smirking, and that he was messing with him again.

"Lead the way," George reiterated, trying not to get flustered, even as he felt his stomach drop. "And no more funny business, or I really am going to destroy your things."

The other man huffed. "Your threats just keep coming, don't they?"

But miraculously, Dream did take up the lead without much argument. 

The caves were dimly lit by the torchlight, each strange shape and structure being slowly revealed by the shadows jumping on the cavern walls. George had to squint just to see two feet ahead of him, sticking close to his prisoner. 

It got quieter and quieter as Dream led them through different winding tunnels, all of which led upward. George wondered how high up the ravine they were. He also wondered how it was that it was getting impossibly darker in the caves, even as it felt like they were growing closer to the surface. Colder, too.

After a few hours of trekking, Dream halted at a lake to drink, but didn't seem interested in getting up from where he sat cross-legged. He prodded his shoulder for much longer than necessary, which told George it was still in bad condition.

George took a drink of water and watched Dream, who sat with his bound arms between his legs. His mask was still on, but George could see his tight-lipped expression. 

"Why do you wear that mask?" He asked suddenly.

Dream's head perked up. "Well, actually... I can't take it off with much... ease at the moment."

George stared at him. "You can't take your own mask off?"

"It sort of... well, it's been stuck for around five hours?"

Snickering, George said, "And you didn't say anything?"

"Clearly not."

"I thought you'd be smarter."

Dream seemed to straighten, as if he were getting riled up. "Says the man who jumped after me into a ravine."

He rolled his eyes. "Look, do you want me to help take off the stupid mask or not?"

"It's not stupid." A pause. Then, "Yes."

George walked over and smirked a little at the sight of Dream's mask, all tangled up in his golden-brown curls.

Dream grunted a little as he tugged it off — it was easy enough to remove, but he guessed it wasn't when your hands were tied together.

"There."

Dream's normally bright green eyes were murkier than George remembered. He mumbled his thanks.

George held the mask. "Seriously, though. We've all seen your face. The mask isn't for identity, is it?"

Dream frowned, the lines on his face tightening. It was both intriguing and irritating that he was just as hard to read even with his stupid mask off. 

"I don't know. I guess a part of it is privacy, but then... it just stuck. Feels weird without it now."

"So the elusive criminal has attachment issues?"

"I do _not_ ," he said, amusement evident in his voice. "Also— elusive? That's flattering, George."

George immediately drew away from him. "Don't call me that."

"It's your name. What am I meant to call you?" He made a face, nose scrunched up. "Oh Great and powerful Hunter?"

"Well, it's not like your real name is Dream."

"No," he agreed, raising his eyebrows. "Guess you don't associate with criminals, huh? Not up there on your high horse."

George glared at him. "I've been chasing you for _three_ years. I knew it would be satisfying to catch you, but you're so much worse than I thought you'd be."

The corner of Dream's lip pulled up, but this only made George's anger spike.

He went on, "You're arrogant, ignorant and self-obsessed. You don't care that you've hurt thousands of people, you don't care that you've broken the law. You have no respect and no humanity."

He took a deep breath, struggling to control his shaking, his fists clenched by his sides. "So forgive me if I have trouble associating with someone I consider more of a monster than a person."

Dream stared at him, eyes wide. George averted his gaze, too angry to face him, and didn't give him a chance to reply before he stormed off. 

Then Dream cleared his throat behind him. "This is a really bad time, I think, but you might wanna see this."


	5. Trapped

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the two men become trapped in an isolated cave

Dream gestured urgently behind them. "There's a bunch of spiders headed this way."

George's anger seemed to give way to panic. "I hear them."

"They're coming from below us. We need to keep heading up, and fast."

His captor didn't need to be told twice. They set off on a run, Dream awkwardly leaning to the left at every step, because his shoulder was killing him, and it didn't help that he was now carting around some of his supplies again.

He hadn't forgotten George's outburst, not even in the face of danger. In fact, his words rung in his head, over and over, bothering Dream more than he'd like to admit.

In all honesty, he didn't understand where the rant had come from. Sure, Dream could be a little grande and exciting, maybe even arrogant, yes. 

But ignorant? A _monster_?

What did George have against him? The King was the one who was pissed about the diverted funds. What did George care? Surely he was rich enough; Dream didn't have a penny in his pocket. Granted, that did make him a criminal who stole instead of earning for a living, but it wasn't his fault he was banished...

Dream tried to focus, but his mind had been pretty overworked lately. And at the same time, he was lethargic. Like he was weaker than usual... Probably nothing. (Probably his shoulder).

He stumbled after the Hunter, listening to the eerie hum of the spider's hisses that gradually caught up to them, accompanied by the sound of thousands of clawed feet, scuttling quickly on the cave floor. 

The overly large spiders were not Dream's favourite. He wondered if they were mad about George attacking them. Maybe he could bargain with them, trade George's life for his freedom?

"In here!" George suddenly dragged Dream down a smaller tunnel, which Dream thought was a pretty terrible idea, because almost all small caverns led _away_ from the surface—

Dream felt a jolt: George had lost his footing and was careening forward. Dream didn't have enough time to slow down before his body collided into George's, the two of them tumbling down an unseen gap in the cave, falling five— no, ten-- _fifteen_ feet— into a shockingly cold pool of water.

The splashing seemed to echo and bounce off the walls above them: they'd fallen pretty far down, basically eradicating any previous progress in climbing up the ravine. 

There was a very long moment of silence. Dream pushed himself up awkwardly. His hands and wrists were throbbing in their handcuffs. His shoulder was practically burning, and his entire body was soaking wet. 

He had to smother his fury before turning to George, who was sat aimlessly in the pool as if in shock. 

"Are you out of your _mind_?"

George stirred to attention. "We lost the spiders, didn't we?"

"What we lost is all our goddamn progress!"

"We can climb back up," George snapped. Though as he said it, the rumbling of the spiders, who were apparently still running up the main cave, sent a wave of debris to fall down the hole they'd come from. 

The two men watched helplessly as the small hole filled with gravel above them. 

They were trapped.

•

"You know glaring and sighing isn't going to solve this," George said warily.

Dream didn't even want to reply. The two of them were sat a good few feet apart on the bank of the small cave pool, George having just returned from exploring the area; Dream sat tending to his wounds by a newly-made fire.

He was furious at the idiocy of his companion, because surely by now, if they had just stuck to the main path, they would be out of here... Dream would breathing in fresh air, one step closer to freedom. 

He was again checking the wound on his shoulder, worsened by the fall. It looked almost green, but he couldn't tell in the flickering amber light of his fire.

"I've looked all around this cavern. It only goes further down, apparently," George spoke again. Then, "Are you really going to ignore me?"

"I think you're an idiot."

"Yeah, well I think you're—"

Dream went back to tending to his shoulder, huffing. "A monster, yeah."

George was quiet for what felt like a minute. "Are you actually mad about that?"

"I know I'm not exactly liked by the King..." Dream looked at his cuffed hands awkwardly. They were all scuffed up and bloody, which he guessed wasn't new. "I know I've stolen and I've lied and done some questionable things..."

"You seem awful avoidant of the fact that you're a murderer, Dream," the Hunter cut in coldly.

He stiffened. "What?"

George just snorted. "You're unbelievable, you know that? You run around the land all cocky, stealing what you can't earn for yourself—"

Dream bristled at this, for he wasn't really given many options for earning his own money, what with the massive target on his back.

He persisted on, "You take what isn't yours and you leave villages in poverty. Did you know that?"

"Anywhere that isn't part of the King's Court _is_ in poverty. And I don't steal from the poor."

George laughed, a loud and harsh sound without humour. "You steal from whoever you see fit, whoever benefits you. Don't pretend you're trying to spread some worthy and justifiable message."

Dream just shook his head in amazement. "What has this got to do with me being a murderer?"

George couldn't believe his ignorance. He rounded on Dream, though there was still about two feet between them.

"You left a deserted home almost two years ago in flames, with five bodies inside. They were burnt so badly they were unidentifiable, though I didn't miss the stab wounds you left behind." He shook his head, clearly sickened. There was hatred radiating from his dark eyes as he said, "You're a killer. I bet all your admirers and fans don't know that about you, do they? To them, you're some charming bandit—"

"Shut up," Dream snapped, voice harsher than it had been in months. 

"Don't like hearing the truth?" George sneered. When Dream didn't reply, trying to steady his own breathing, he continued, "I see you as a monster because of this, Dream. You hold this persona, this happy and fake identity, when really you're a sick person inside. You don't deserve to live, and you should acknowledge that, before I lose my will to earn that money, and kill you myself."

Dream stood up abruptly before he even knew what he was doing, his ears ringing as he closed the short distance between them.

George was so taken aback, he barely had time to scramble for a weapon. Dream, on the other hand, had already disarmed him by scuffing him on the hands with the hard metal handcuffs, his fingers deftly wrapping around the blade's hilt. He wielded it as naturally as he would with his hands free.

George backed up against the cave wall, breathing heavy. Dream could practically hear the frantic thump-thump-thump of his heartbeat as he raised the sword to his chest.

In a low voice, Dream snarled, "Do it, then."

Then, slowly, miraculously, Dream spun the sword around so that the blade rested above his own heart. 

George reluctantly took the sword back, eyes wide.

"If you really believe I'm a terrible person, why don't you kill me? You'll get more of a reputation that way."

George's expression was unreadable in the dark, but Dream could tell he'd astounded him speechless. This annoyed him: now Dream wanted a reaction. He _wanted_ a fight.

He pushed, "Kill me here, then take my goddamn mask, why don't you? Wear it like a fucking trophy for them."

George lowered the sword, his arm trembling ever so slightly. 

He was afraid. The bastard was afraid of him. 

(Probably for the best — probably the smart thing to do).

Dream bared his teeth in a grim smile. "You may have been on my tail for three years, but you know nothing about me."

With that, he stalked back around the fire, and sat with his back to George, trying not to let the anger and emotion swell up in his throat. 

Instead, he closed his eyes and focused on his breathing once more, waiting for his erratic heartbeat to finally slow.


	6. Conversational

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> george tries to talk to dream

George sat in the darkness of their little cave, staring into the flames of their pathetic little fire, marvelling at the sheer fact that he was still alive. 

Dream was handcuffed, vulnerable and weaker than he'd ever seen him, and yet... yet he was still capable — _extremely_ capable — of holding a sword to George's throat like he was nothing.

All the training he'd done for the King felt a lot like a joke now. He felt as pitiful as the weakening fire ahead of him. 

He'd been scared, even when Dream nudged him to kill him. He was scared of Dream — he was no longer under the illusion that he was in power here. He was clearly more dangerous than he'd bargained for, but George had worried about this.

He had seen the bodies in the house that day, in the aftermath of the fire. The unidentified habitants had been slaughtered, and then the house had been set purposefully on fire. 

Dream was at the scene — it had been confirmed by witnesses, prints, even the footsteps left behind in the dirt. Even if he hadn't _directly_ killed the three people, he had certainly been involved, even if no motive or reason was evident.

It made him out to be a killer who'd become unhinged, a glimpse of which George believed he had witnessed just earlier. Dream was charming and playful on the surface, but his switch had flipped so suddenly...

It changed everything about the case of 'Dream the Bandit'. He wasn't just the run-of-the-mill cheeky thief with morally ambiguous intentions: he was someone capable of murder. Or, at least capable of fleeing from such a scene without, apparently, a sliver of responsibly or care given.

But _maybe_ George was wrong about Dream, just maybe. Not about his capabilities (those were frighteningly clear), but of what he'd done.

George had clearly struck a nerve before. It seemed that whatever happened that night stuck close with Dream, but if he hadn't killed and burnt those people, who did?

Dream was still sat with his back to him, hunched over in the dark. 

It had been an hour, maybe more. George didn't know what he was thinking, but he had to say something, even if it got him yelled at again.

George cleared his throat. "You could have killed me." When Dream didn't deign to respond or even acknowledge he'd heard him, George nudged, "Why didn't you?"

"Because you're wrong about me."

His voice was cold. It practically skittered across George's skin.

He swallowed. "So you've... never killed anyone?"

Dream was quiet for a while. Then he sighed, voice ragged. "I've killed in self-defence and for... other reasons. I don't kill if I can help it, and I definitely don't kill the innocent."

George nodded, even though Dream couldn't see him. "How many people have you killed?"

He snorted. "Don't you have a statistic back at the King's Court? Added to my list of heinous crimes?"

"The five in the burnt building," George said softly. "And four other deaths, across the past three years, that were linked to you."

Again, it took Dream a while to reply. Then he said, reluctantly, "I know everyone I've killed. I remember them all, even their names, and not one of them was in that burnt building."

For some reason, he took Dream's word for it, even if he did have questions swarming in his head. He bit his lip to keep himself from asking them.

Instead, he said, "I didn't mean to assume."

"But you did. All you hunters are the same."

George felt that annoying tug of guilt in his gut again. "Well, yes. You're perceived as a monster at the King's Court."

"It's your own perception that counts," Dream snapped. "Don't blame it on the Court."

Flustered, George replied, "Well. I don't know about my perception. I may have... been misinformed."

Silence enveloped the cave so that all George could hear was the crackle of the fire. 

Dream finally turned around. He was wearing the mask again, blood-splattered and broken. In a muffled voice he said, "Are you admitting that you were wrong?"

"Well—"

"You are."

"Maybe you're just _more_ right."

Dream nudged off the mask, revealing a smile, his emerald eyes seemingly brighter. "I think you did just admit you were wrong."

Warily, he said, "Don't tell the other hunters," which made Dream laugh. 

George liked the sound; it was refreshing, considering George was fairly certain that Dream had been plotting his demise earlier.

Dream came back around to the fire, and George gasped out. "Your hands! And lips! They're blue."

"Oh, yeah, it's cold," he said indifferently, munching on some food. "I was figuring out an escape plan and it kinda helped me focus."

George stared at him, mind full of questions, but all that came out his mouth was, "Escape plan?"

Dream bent over his food, blonde curls falling over his eyes. "There's a weakness in the rock structure further down. I reckon you could use your sword as a lever, force it open, see where it goes."

Huh. So he hadn't just been brooding the whole time.

George couldn't help but feel embarrassed. He, on the other hand, had been busily concerned that he'd pushed his captive too far, even when Dream was a wanted criminal who admitted to killing people—

He's a murderer, George told himself, as he watched Dream chew happily, one of his lanky legs bouncing as he hummed to himself. And a thief. And a threat to the King.

Just because he was wrong about the fire didn't mean that Dream was innocent — it didn't even remove his label as killer.

He had to stay focused.

•

Dream warmed himself by the fire, well aware of George watching him nervously, though he didn't look up to acknowledge him.

Being by the flames did bring back that night one year ago, as much as Dream wanted to outrun such a memory. He remembered how the smoke seemed to fill the entire building, how it went into his nose and eyes and mouth, as he staggered blindly and furiously through, trying to chase the man who had stolen everything from him—

The memory was not a good one. 

But he hadn't laid his hand on a person that night, had done nothing of ill intent. Sure, he was in pursuit of someone he most certainly wanted to kill, but they got away. (He wondered if this was the hatred and frustration that George felt when he chased Dream).

 _That would be ironic_ , Dream thought, though any amusement at the notion faded at the sharp pain in his shoulder.

George stirred to attention because Dream couldn't hide the hiss of pain that escaped through his teeth. 

"You're still hurt?"

Dream glared at him. "I'm fine."

"You're clearly not."

"I've handled worse."

George did not look convinced. "Do you want more bandages?"

"No, Oh Powerful Hunter, I do not."

When George rolled his eyes, it actually made Dream smile. His annoyance and exasperation towards Dream was actually... endearing. 

"Look," George sighed, meeting his gaze dead on. "I need your help getting out of here, because yeah, it's partly my fault we're in this mess."

"Partly?" Dream snorted, but immediately silenced himself when he caught sight of the withering look George was giving him.

"Anyway, I should at least return the favour with your wounds."

"Guilty conscious?" Dream mocked.

"Shut up."

Dream didn't argue as George prepared him some ointment from his own bag and smothered it along a fresh white cotton cloth.

Dream's breath caught in his throat as George came to sit by him. They hadn't been this physically close since he'd had a sword to his throat, and it was strange seeing him in this much detail when they weren't even trying to kill each other.

George's long dark lashes were lowered, brows scrunched up in concentration as he removed the old bandages and reapplied them. Dream stiffened slightly when George's hand made very brief contact with his skin, but it passed quickly. 

He felt like he couldn't breathe. He hated having someone this close to him, helping him— he was going to snap any moment, he was going to hit him or something—

He smothered the anxiety and let out a very tense breath as soon as George was finished, and he pulled away. 

Once it was done, Dream was a lot more comfortable in terms of pain, but the wound was still throbbing, and his heart was still racing. Infected after a spider bite really was not a good sign...

"All okay?" George asked him. 

Dream nodded, dazed. "Uh, yeah. Thank you."

He cleared his throat. "You said there was some loose rock?"

"Follow me," Dream said as he jumped to his feet, glad for the excuse to stand and get away from the close proximity to George, because it had been strangely suffocating...

He showed George the spot and watched as he used the blade of his sword to dislodge a couple of large boulders. Sure enough, soon there was a man-sized gap in the rubble that led upwards in the cave wall.

Not in the direction they had originally travelled, but at least it went up. It was better than Dream had expected. He almost felt hopeful.

Almost.

•

The two men were mostly silent as they explored this new passageway, George leading the way and Dream following uncharacteristically carefully; such a tight tunnel was hard to navigate with his hands still tied.

Eventually the small ascending tunnel broke out into another wide cave, where the air was musty and damp. 

Dream felt his heart sink. No sign of a breeze.

George didn't seem as disheartened. "Finally. We're out."

"And still very underground."

George lit a new torch. "You're a bundle of joy to be around."

"Feeling's mutual."

After a few minutes of Dream trudging after George, Dream became aware of just how painful his shoulder was. It had been aching for the entirety of the journey, particularly after the spiders' attacked, but now it was _burning_. He wanted nothing more than to apply more ointment, maybe just check it and clean it, but his hands weren't free, and he most certainly didn't want to to ask George...it had been awkward enough before...

George stopped at a fork in the passage, both leading up. Seemed like a good sign, but Dream wasn't fooled. Without much light or breeze, it was obvious that they were still deep in the ravine, and he was beginning to feel smothered by it.

"Which one?"

Dream shrugged, the movement jerky and awkward. He winced at a burst of pain in his shoulder.

George, who hadn't noticed this, just sighed and veered off to the left.

Dream tried to roll his shoulders, still gritting his teeth in pain, and was so distracted that he almost — almost — missed the fact that the ground beneath George's feet seemed warped, as if it were made of millions of small granules—

"George!" He yelled.

The Hunter turned around, scowling, starting to say, "I told you not to call me—"

There was suddenly a roar of sound, as loud as thunder.

Dream had time to mutter "Fuck" before the ground collapsed in on itself.


	7. The Backpack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> dream only cares about his bag. george knows.

George's eyes widened in complete shock as his feet seemed to sink through the floor. Before he could even react, he lurched backwards — somehow Dream had grabbed him before he fell, even with his hands stuck together—

"So," George said breathlessly, after the entirety of the cavern had finished sinking in on itself, staring at the collapsed mound of gravel. "Should have gone to the right."

Dream hadn't even let go yet. "It's not over yet. The ground is unstable, which means we've got to be careful where we stand."

"You saved me," George said, sounding about as surprised as he felt.

"Don't sound so shocked," he muttered, immediately letting go. "You have my backpack."

Then Dream's eyes widened. "Where is it?"

George realised too late that there was no longer a weight on his back. He spun on his heels, staring at the gravel mount.

Dream shouldered past him, eyes frantically roaming the pile of rocks. 

George watched in amazement as Dream began rummaging through the stones with his shackled hands, painfully and frantically shoving them aside. 

George suddenly spotted the backpack, it was just on Dream's left, hidden by some debris, and he stepped forward to say so, when Dream whirled on him, quick as an adder.

The fear in his eyes had a paralysing effect. 

George stepped back instinctively, having the impression that this man — the man capable of murder — was unhinged. And it was not a good sign.

"I need to find it," he breathed, inching towards George.

"It's there," he blurted, pointing. "I must've let go of it."

Immediately, Dream's posture seemed to soften, the harsh lines on his face melting away as soon as he caught sight of the backpack, still in one piece.

It was the most emotion that George had ever witnessed from him, and it was completely disarming. 

Dream slowly straightened, watching with hawk-like intent as George retrieved the bag. George glanced up at him, joking, "You _do_ have attachment issues to your bag." 

He wondered if the tremor in his voice was obvious.

"It's all I've ever really had," Dream defended, rather hotly. Then, regaining some of his annoyingly aloof composure, he said, "I'm protective of what belongs to me, just as anyone else would be."

George wanted to ask about it, but Dream pushed on wordlessly to the pathway on the right. They didn't stop for the next hour or so as the cave wound slowly upwards, and George was so unnerved that he refused to speak the entire journey, for fear of Dream looking at him like that again.

•

It took Dream a long period in order for his bundle of nerves to settle as he pushed on in the darkness, the cavern dimly lit from behind him as the Hunter followed with a torch.

He didn't know what he would do if he lost that bag. It had _everything_ that mattered to Dream.

And the close call with almost losing it was a massive sign that Dream was wasting time in the caves. He only felt more and more tempted to turn on George and prove to him that his assumptions about Dream were correct. He'd kill him, or at least leave him abandoned, and take the bag — take the map — out with him, so he could finally get back to what he needed to do. He had been so close before, and every minute he spent with George was a minute wasted.

He had to get out of these caves, and with that map. 

Except he had to play this with some wit, because leaving George behind wasn't the brightest idea, especially with the other hunters out looking for him. 

As he was pondering ways of gaining George's trust, perhaps a way to manipulate him, Dream felt a breeze pick up, winding gently through his golden-brown curls.

He stopped. "You feel that?"

George's face brightened. "That means-"

Both of them started running up the rocky pathway, fuelled by their excitement despite all the exhaustion and pain they'd endured, because finally - _finally_ they were getting out. 

Light seemed to pour in as they got closer, basking the cave in a soft amber glow, like a halo, like a blessing— 

They reached the end, Dream tasted the crisp air and drank it eagerly, it was so much better than the stuffy and damp atmosphere of the caves... 

Then he glanced up. 

His elation immediately halted, leaving a sour taste in his mouth.

Ground-level was still about fifty feet up. The cave merely led into the gaping ravine, with an insulting view of the ground above them. 

Another reminder that they were _never_ getting out of there.

George had his hands over his face, groaning. 

He looked at Dream. "This is your fault."

Dream rolled his eyes. "Oh, here we go."

"If you hadn't jumped in-"

"I never asked you to follow me!"

"I had to!"

George was just a foot from him, eyeing him defiantly, gripping his sword in his hand. Dream wondered incredulously how this man still thought he was possibly intimidating, 'Hunter' or not.

Dream snapped, "Why did you have to? Why couldn't you just leave me alone?"

"Because you always get away," George was starting to sound shrill, his eyes practically ablaze as he nudged even closer, shouting in his face. "I couldn't let you win. It's not fair that you always get away with everything."

"Oh, _boohoo_ ," Dream said harshly, precisely to piss him off, but it worked better than he'd been anticipating. George shoved him with both hands, hard enough that Dream almost lost balance.

"Got it out of your system yet?" mocked Dream, who couldn't help but enjoy his rage as he stood back. "Does it make you feel better to hit me, knowing what I've done? Does it finally make you feel good about yourself, calling me a monster?"

George grabbed him by the scuff of his hoodie with both hands, dropping his weapon to slam Dream against the wall. 

_Moron_ , Dream thought, eyeing the discarded sword. To George, he smirked and said, "You hate it, don't you? That you're stuck down here with me. That I can so easily get in your head."

"Stop. Talking." George's teeth were gritted together, eyes alight.

Dream smiled. This was working almost too easily.

"Or what, _George_?" he purred.

George removed his left hand to reach back, and Dream's resolve flickered as he pulled out his backpack.

"Or," George dragged the words out painfully slowly, "I will drop this bag off the side of the ravine, and whatever's so precious to you will be gone."

George's grip was so tight, Dream could barely wriggle from where he was pinned to the wall. 

So quickly, the odds had been turned. He felt his heart pound, hyperaware of his backpack precariously hovering in the air, mockingly unsafe. 

"Do you want me to kill you?" Dream breathed.

"I want to win." 

George's eyes widened with emphasis, and then he simply... let go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks sm if you're still somehow reading :>  
> this chapter is a smaller one but the next few are a bit longer. on wattpad, someone commented that they were unsure as to who's the bottom in this story. sometimes i still don't know. (its george).
> 
> feedback/advice is always appreciated!!!


	8. Bargaining

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> george finally has leverage over dream

Dream shoved George so hard that he fell onto his back, winded. George heaved for breath, stunned, and watched, with his vision dizzying, as Dream clambered desperately to the edge, as if he still had time to lunge for his bag. 

It should have been satisfying to see him so desperate, yet the unhinged glint was back in Dream's verdant eyes, and every instinct for survival was begging George to run.

He looked dangerous. He _was_ dangerous.

From beneath him, George gasped, "You'll kill yourself if you jump off."

His head snapped around so fast to stare down at him, almost as if he'd forgotten George was there. George watched in morbid fascination as fury dawned on the man's features, sharpening the lines around his brows, his mouth. 

He snarled, "You."

Dream was probably deliberating whether or not he should snap his neck.

George didn't give him the chance. 

He kicked up desperately, slamming his armoured boots into Dream's chest before rolling away and scrambling for his sword. He stood on wobbling knees, blade toward his chest, a defensive stance he'd learnt at the King's Court.

While the thought of a fight sent a thrill of danger through him, he was regretting what he did every second he beheld the anger in Dream's eyes. 

He'd wanted to have the power for once, he was sick of Dream constantly having the upper hand, even with them tied. 

But even now, even with Dream recovering for breath and without a weapon... It didn't feel like George had the control. 

His hands trembled slightly as Dream rose slowly to his feet. 

He pointed the sword at him and said breathlessly, "You should yield."

Dream stared at him through lowered lashes, unnervingly still. "You just lost your leverage."

"Will you start taking me seriously now?"

But he wasn't listening. "I'll kill you."

The thief lunged at George, who had a split second to raise the sword, parrying Dream aside. For once, Dream's aim was not perfect and controlled and deliberate, because his sleeve got caught on the sword, and a flash of blood appeared on his wrist. He was just so _angry_ , it was practically coming off him in waves, and he didn't care that there was a blade between them.

It was desperation, George realized, and wondered briefly why this thought didn't scare him. 

A fist came flying out of nowhere, right into George's jaw. Dream had thrown his entire weight into it, so— it hurt. 

He took a moment to recover, his world spinning. Dream was watching him with grim determination — he believed he was going to win, as always.

But George had been paying attention to Dream. How he carried himself... which side he favoured...

He slammed the hilt of the blade on Dream's left shoulder, who instantly hissed out in pain, falling to one knee. George almost smiled — he had brought him to his _knees_.

Then he threw his weight down, his boots pinning Dream's wrists to the ground, and tilted his sword so that it pressed against the vulnerable skin on his throat. 

Both of them were panting, and silence filled the cavern quickly once Dream realized he was immobilized.

And he... didn't even try to fight against it. 

He met George's eyes, his own swirling with fury, and said, with conviction, "I _hate_ you."

Gloating, George said, "You think I didn't notice your shoulder, this whole time? You think I didn't realize you were only keeping me around for your stupid bag?"

He imagined the other Hunters watching the ordeal. He imagined, for a moment, the _glory_ (he could practically taste it in his mouth).

Dream's eyes sharpened.

It was satisfying to see him beaten, though the lack of wit and anger was almost unnerving...

George angled the blade so that it lifted his chin, forcing him to look into his eyes as he murmured, "You underestimated me. You always have."

That got to him — his irises flickered at his words. He did not like to be made a fool of.

"So what? This was a power play? To chuck the one thing I care about off a cliff?"

George shrugged. "I know the game you're playing, how you tried to intimidate me. You would've left me for dead for whatever's in that bag... you wanted something kept protected. Something you would risk everything for."

There was no warmth on Dream's face.

He pushed on, "I've looked through your bag so many times. And the thing is, there's nothing there that stands out. This isn't about nostalgia or attachment issues."

His lip curled. "No shit."

His fingers were twitching in the cuffs, and he was still breathing unevenly, like he couldn't possibly handle all the anger he was feeling, like he was holding himself back. A ticking-time-bomb.

"It's a map," George said into the silence.

Dream went incredibly still.

George nudged the sword to his chin and smiled. "Will you take me seriously now?"

He growled, "If you've so much as _touched_ that map—" 

"It's safe," George said dismissively. "I knew the moment you trapped me in spider silk that you weren't just running away. You were looking for something."

"There's something I have to do."

"Yeah? What? The map points to the wastelands, way beyond the Kingdom, I checked. There's nothing there for anyone, not even you."

Dream shook his head. "You're wrong."

"What is it?" George breathed. "What are you searching for?"

It had to be something incredible. Riches, maybe, because he clearly had no issue stealing from people... Then again, this man didn't seem shallow, and certainly not luxurious...

What did Dream want?

"Take the sword off my throat and I'll show you," he said in a low voice, so low it made nerves rise in George's chest. 

"Tell me what you're looking for," he demanded, shoving away his anxiety.

"Or what?" Dream hissed.

George smirked as he pulled out the folded map. "Or I rip this thing to shreds."

Dream actually tried to move, his expression tightening, but he was stuck, the sword now even closer to his throat. 

"Now let's try again — what are you looking for?"

His eyes never left that map. "You're making a mistake, _George_." He said his name with such venom.

"Is it something to do with the King? Do you plan on taking him down? Overthrowing him?"

"Who cares? He wants me dead and it seems," he looked down the blade with disinterest, "he's got me at his will."

When George just blinked at him, Dream seemed to gain a spurt of energy, his anger fueling him. "I have no interest in the Kingdom, not really. I'm trying to get away from the King, in case you hadn't noticed, and while I do love pissing him — and you — off," George pushed the blade further, making Dream choke on his last few words, "I simply have— better things to do."

There was no hint of deceit or trickery, but even so...

George put the map away slowly, back in his pocket, still eyeing the prisoner curiously. "Look, I just wanted to prove to you that I wasn't what you expected. You weren't taking me seriously so I did the one thing that would get your attention."

Dream's lips twitched. "I have to admit, this is a nice change. _You_ pinning _me_ down."

He felt his face burn as he glared at Dream. "Well, do I have your attention?"

"You've had my attention the moment you put a sword to my neck," he admitted. Then, slowly, his lips pulled up at the corners. "The first time, I mean."

George rolled his eyes.

After a moment, Dream sighed. "I'm not trying to overthrow the king, or whatever other conspiracy you can conjure up. I'm looking for my family."

Throat going dry, George stared down at him, the man who aggravated him beyond belief, who had just a moment ago fought with the intent to kill, the man who he was supposed to hate. 

"Your..." he couldn't even say it. It didn't make sense.

This man had a family. The thought shouldn't have been so disarming, but... He hadn't imagined that Dream actually cared about someone other than himself, and now the thought made him ill. Gods, this man kept surprising him— 

"My mother and my sister," Dream said softly, breaking into George's swirl of endless thoughts. "They were taken from me. I'm looking for them."

Taken? By who? And how did the map—

Dream caught his eye. George didn't know why, but he felt inclined to look away as he went on, "The map was all I could find when they were gone. My mother, I think. It's her writing. She wanted me to find her."

"Who..." 

"I don't know." He smiled ruefully. "I've made a lot of enemies."

A stab of guilt hit him in the gut, stealing his breath. Without even consciously meaning to, he'd lowered the sword. 

Dream laughed, the sound harsh. "What, you pity me and now you can't hurt me?"

He couldn't swallow past the lump in his throat. "I was never going to hurt you."

The words slipped out before he could stop them.

The thief looked up at him, still on his knees, still the picture of vulnerability. His green eyes were piercing — George got the impression that he was being seen, really seen, beneath all the armour.

And he said, "I wanted to kill you, George. And I would have done. If you had jeopardized the one chance at me finding them, I would have had to. But now you've seen the map. You know what I'm looking for. What happens now?"

"You stop running away."

He shook his head. "You're not going to let me go. The moment we leave this cavern, get back to the surface... you're going to take me to the King and you're going to be paid handsomely." His voice dropped with venom as he added, "Just like you always wanted."

"That isn't what I want," George managed to grate out, even though every fibre in his being was telling him to stop breaking his role, to stay loyal to the King, this was probably some insane form of manipulation on Dream's part. 

The thief cocked up an eyebrow. "Then what do you want?"

With every brain cell cursing and spitting at him to shut the hell up, to stop the words coming out of his traitorous mouth, George said the most honest and terrifying thing he'd said since jumping into the ravine:

"I want to help you."


	9. Mutual Aims

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> george and dream strike a deal

“I want to help you."

The words were immobilizing. Dream's initial reaction had been to laugh, and then maybe mock him, and then maybe ask if he was being serious. On the surface, however, he merely gaped at George with a mixture of bemusement and amusement. 

Surely this was pity?

It had to be, because George's expression had never been so soft, so open, not like when he was trying to uphold his stupid Loyal Knight persona. He was being vulnerable, which meant Dream's sympathy card had played in his favour — but at what cost? 

Now George knew what he was after, meaning the information was ever-closer to reaching the King, and then Dream would be royally screwed, whether he got out of the caves alive or not. George simply could not live with the information, he _had_ to die. 

Why was the thought of killing him so much harder the more he postponed it?

He would have gladly torn into George with all the volcanic rage he'd felt when he thought the map was gone, but he hadn't thrown it away. He'd known it was important, he'd been playing his own power games. And while it was certainly enticing that he'd managed to outplay Dream, he couldn't let it happen again — he wouldn't.

"Well?" George asked with raised eyebrows. "Are you going to... reply?"

"Help me?" He finally scoffed. "I must have punched you really hard."

He scowled, gingerly feeling the skin on his cheekbone. "Yeah, thanks for that. But seriously, I want to help you. Find your family, I mean."

A lump found it's way into Dreams throat. "What if that had been a bluff?"

"You wouldn't lie about that," he said, and he sounded so sure of himself, it was almost annoying.

Dream remained defiant. "What happened to me being a monster, huh?"

George just grimaced at him. "Stop being a baby."

Dream bounced to his feet, pointedly ignoring the ache in his shoulder as he rambled, “You're so confusing. One minute you hate me, the next I try to kill you, and now you're—"

"You're going to make me change my mind," George said, followed by an aggravated sigh. "Yes, I'll help you find your family _if_ you work with me to get out of this ravine."

"And the King?"

George hesitated, eyes darting to the left. “I'll... speak to him."

Dream laughed loudly. "You think the King will listen to you, let alone let me go? You're more delusional than I thought."

"You're a criminal. What did you expect?”

"A criminal you just offered to help," Dream pointed out, smirking. "Pick a side."

When George looked at a loss to say anything more, Dream did the thinking for him. 

"If you help me, that's your life on the line. If I let you take me in, then I die and you win."

"We can work something out."

"You're an idiot if you truly believe that.”

"I'm not—"

"Then where's all our food and bandages?" Dream slapped his hand on his head. "Oh yeah, you threw it off a cliff."

George went red in the face. "I kept the food and bandages, moron. I'm not that stupid."

Dream smiled idly at his embarrassment and George slowly seemed to realize—

"You're _trying_ to get a rise out of me."

"And succeeding," Dream said smugly. 

"Do you want my help or not?" George grated out. (He was probably having second thoughts about this whole ‘help’ thing).

Incredulous, Dream asked, “You're actually going through with this, the deceit? You realize the King will have you kill you, right? It's treason."

"He won't find out," he said, and his confidence was almost convincing. 

_Almost_. 

He hid behind a mask just like Dream did, but he could see through it. 

Analyzing him with squinted eyes, Dream hummed to himself, deep in thought. It was ridiculous, that he was willing to take this risk just so... just so he could find his family. 

Then George reiterated, "I can't promise your protection. I'll help you find your mother and sister, I'll at least try, and I'll give you that much. But you're still wanted, and I will still look for you when all this is over."

Those words seemed to be stuck in his brain, like they were engraved, playing over and over.

_I'll give you that much._

George was going to help him — he _hated_ him, but wanted to help him. It didn't make any sense.

Eyes narrowing at the fact that Dream's eyes hadn't left him, the hunter added, "I caught you once, Dream, and I'll do it again."

"I'm sure you will," Dream said, a little breathlessly. He was still trying to recover from the fact that George was willing to do this for him.

"Let's go, okay? I've got enough supplies, let's just find our way to the top while it's still light out." George's voice was tired. 

He turned his back to Dream, stashing his sword away. Defenceless. Vulnerable. This was risky, even for him.

Dream blurted, "Do you have a family?"

George's dark hair looked almost auburn in the soft sunlight, the lines of anger had left his rigid expression as he turned around. "Not one that I particularly care for."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning you're pushing your luck with these questions," he huffed, storming on.

He followed obligingly, but found that there were words begging to escape the chasm in his chest, and some impulsive part of him had to say it.

“My dad left us when I was too young to really care, but too old for it to not realize it hurt. It hurt more as I grew up, especially because of my mom. I always saw how hard it was for her, to look after me and my sister. I didn’t make it easy for her, either.”

George walked on in silence, the only indication that he'd heard him being the way his head seemed to dip at the sound of Dream's voice, like he was straining to hear more.

"But I could give her enough to keep living. Every bit of wealth was lost with my father, so I... well, you know what I got up to. There was just _so much_ money to spare for the King, all of it unused or used for lavish gifts, whatever, useless stuff... I took some for my family, for the poor, and I don't regret it. I don't think I ever will. Even if it does kill me."

George stopped walking. 

Dream found it harder to speak as he came to a stop, too. They were further into the cave where it was a lot darker, and quieter. 

"And now they're gone, they've been gone for two years," he tried to fight that rise of heat in his throat, but his eyes were already starting to blur, "two years of me searching for them. The map was... you know, not clear, and with all you Hunters interfering with my progress... it hasn't been easy."

Silence met him in response. He was afraid to speak any more, he felt as though he'd overtired himself, burnt through his energy reserve. He didn't know why he'd said that, and his first instinct was to take it back, but that would mean killing him. And that hadn't exactly worked out, before. 

He clenched his fists together because they were aching to hit something. (Probably good that they were stuck).

George’s response was slow, deliberate. “I want to give you the chance I never had, to find the family you love. That’s all.” George looked over his shoulder, gripping his sword tightly. “But this job is all I have left. So I’ll find a way to help your family, but you have to stop running.”

Stop running? What was it with George and all his stupid ideas? All Dream _knew_ was running, and he was really goddamn good at it.

Seeing the frown on his face, George raised his hands placatingly. “If the King has you, I can get your family. The King will listen if he gets what he wants. I can finish what you started, without anyone getting hurt.”

Dream briefly envisioned his head on a guillotine and thought, _I beg to differ._

“I can’t do that,” he said, throat dry. 

It was incomprehensible, to stop running, to leave the task to George the Hunter. It was far too risky, too dangerous. He had to be the one to find them. He _had_ to be the one to kill the person — or people — who took them.

“Or,” Dream’s head instantly lifted at his voice, snapping out of his fervour, “we could do something stupid, like fake your death.”

A grin broke across his face. “You’re a lot smarter than you look.”

George frowned and stalked on, idly swiping at the cobwebs in the corner of the cave with his blade. “But you’d have to promise to never return to the Kingdom. Not that you’re welcome here, anyway.”

He bit his tongue to prevent the biting and sarcastic comment that actually the people loved him, it was only the King’s court and the monarchy that wanted him gone. It was people like George who wanted him gone, because he was afraid of him. Afraid of the threat he posed, or maybe he was afraid of the fact that he wasn’t at all what he expected. George didn’t seem to like his expectations being tampered with, it disrupted his ever-so-structured facade. Dream smiled a little at the thought.

“I could do that,” he said begrudgingly. “Then you really do get the glory of being the one who killed me.”

“None of the satisfaction, though,” George muttered under his breath.

“Hey,” Dream protested, picking up the pace as George seemed to be trying to run away from the conversation. “I gave you plenty of opportunities to kill me.”

“You wouldn’t have let me, not really.”

“No,” he agreed. “Anyway, you like me too much.”

George twisted on his heels, glaring. “You—“

“ _GEORGE_!”

They both froze. 

Again, that familiar voice, louder - “GEORGE ARE YOU DOWN THERE?”

Dream’s lips tightened, his heart sinking as he said, disdainfully, “It’s your Great and Powerful Hunter friends.”

•

George had the distinct impression that he was being scrutinised. Dream was watching him with hawk-like intent, almost as though he was waiting for George to run off after them, to take back all he’d said about helping him.

The thought had crossed his mind, of course. It was still circulating in there, persistently so, because he would be able to end this, once and for all, as he should’ve done a long time ago.

“I’m going,” George decided. “I’ll bring your mask, say you got away, just so I can see how they got in — and how we get out.”

“And what? Lead them back down here?”

“I’ll figure something out.” George scrambled for the mask in his bag and grabbed some dry meat, which he tossed to Dream. “Stay put.”

He caught it, and gave him his insufferable smirk in response. “What am I, your pet?” 

“Just stay quiet, okay?” 

George’s heart was practically in his throat. He didn’t know why he was doing this, not really. What did he care if Dream never saw his family? He’d wanted him dead for years - three years was a long time to hold a grudge, but he was at least a little bit calmer than he’d been when he started his post as a fiery seventeen-year-old whose only goal was to put away some criminals.

Now he saw that Dream was just a man on a mission, like himself... and he supposed some missions were more important than others.

As he rushed off with a flaming torch, following his fellow Hunters’ voices, Dream called after him, “And what if I get attacked? How will I defend myself?”

“You know you can manage,” George growled. “What are you looking for, validation?”

 _That_ shut him up. 

George spared a glance back to see him scowling, and it brought a smile to his face. 

He clambered up the cavern, still following the source of the yelling. When he was far enough from Dream, he called out, “I’m here!”

“George? George, are you okay?” It was Bad’s voice, strained with worry.

Then Sapnap, in a more hardened voice. “We’re coming down.”

“Wait, wait. Are you guys on the surface?” He searched the cavern, and sure enough, his eyes snagged on the orange light that was filtering through a small break in the ceiling. Not big enough for all three of them, but maybe one at a time.

“Yeah, we’ve got ropes and stuff,” Bad yelled. 

Sapnap’s voice was urgent. “Have you got him?”

George wondered if the King had put a lot of pressure on them to find Dream. 

He imagined the yelling they would have been subject to, for losing him. He thought about the King’s prison — images of the secluded cells and rusted chains in the castle filled his mind, he swore he even heard the crack of a whip, like a muscle memory — and suddenly he was afraid. Not just for him, but all of the hunters.

If they returned empty-handed, _again_ —

Trying to swallow the lump in his throat, George responded, “He...he must still be around. He’s weak.”

He felt the disappointment all those meters above him. The everlasting silence was indication enough.

He added, desperately, “I’m so close. I promise. He’s just... good at putting up a fight.”

“I know,” Sapnap said. He sounded exhausted.

Guilt chewed at George’s insides. How could he help Dream at the expense of his life, of his best friends’ life? Sapnap and Bad were his family, in a sense. They were all he had, even if all he ever sought to do was outshine them. He still cared.

“Look, we’re sending some ropes down," the other Hunter went on. "It’s dark, though, this might take a while, but I’ll figure out an easy way for us to get down. Or, for you to come up.”

“You stay up there,” George insisted. “I don’t need your help.” He held Dream’s ceramic white mask in his hands, tight enough that it felt it would snap. 

If he could just make it seem as though they’d won, if he could somehow please the King and still give Dream what he wanted...

“I’m going to find him,” George decided. “And kill him.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Sapnap snorted. “You haven’t killed him so far, have you? Just stay put, don’t do anything stupid.”

“But I’ve survived this long, too.”

Silence. Then Bad said, tentatively, “he has a point, Sap. Dream’s the most dangerous person in the Kingdom.”

“I _did_ think you would be dead by now,” Sap mused.

“Your faith in me is so moving,” George said dryly. "I'll be back soon."

Sapnap called after him, “Don’t let us down, Gogy!” and the back of George’s ears went uncomfortably hot. He _hated_ nicknames.

He found Dream not far down the winding chasm, leaning against the wall. He looked so comfortable, so well-suited for the environment, one could hardly tell that his hands were tied together. 

George opened his mouth to speak, but stuttered at the sight of his lips slowly curling at the corners. 

Slowly, mockingly, he murmured, “Did he just call you _Gogy_?”

Now his whole face was hot. “I— you heard—“

“I heard you claiming you were gonna kill me, too.”

“I have a plan... A good one,” he added, when Dream just raised an eyebrow with amusement written all over his face. “But I need you to trust me.”

“I’m at your disposal,” he said casually, and it took George’s raised pulse a moment to realize he only meant that because George had his map. 

He forced himself to focus, stepping away from Dream so he could escape that dizzy feeling, before handing him his crossbow and arrows.

Then the Hunter — who really was starting to feel like a hypocrite — laid out his plan to help the Thief evade the Kingsmen.


	10. A Terrible Plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> things don't go as planned with a run-in with the hunters

_Make the chase look real._

Dream snorted to himself as he remembered George's advice. It wasn't as if that would be hard to achieve, considering his life was pretty much full of him trying to run away from things.

He was actually impressed, as unwilling as he was to admit it — he definitely wasn't going to let George know. It was smart to use Dream as bait, lead the other hunters deep into the caves, trap them, and promptly escape.

Dream already had his own plan to lose them — he'd had a lot of time to set traps while the kingsmen were foolishly figuring out how to lower themselves through the small gap in the ceiling (they could easily just jump).

George's only instructions were to not kill them, and to not get caught.

The latter was a given, but the former rather irked him... he knew it would be satisfying to finally win the game of cat-and-mouse, but he supposed it was the kind of thrill he lived on, so it would be no fun if they died.

He'd heard them descend about twenty minutes ago — they were muttering to themselves, looking for him. He could hear George's voice on the other side of the wall he was crouched by.

Hearing him sound so official and serious was as aggravating as it had been the first time they met. It made him seem impenetrable, like a stone wall. It made him hard to read, and Dream would be lying if he didn't acknowledge that it got on his nerves that George knew all about his family, that now he had to trust him, and Dream had nothing in return.

Nothing, except maybe the moments where he broke through George's defence. When George's cheeks went slightly pink, when his eyes brightened like twin flames as Dream tried to provoke him. The thought of it was suddenly making his vision spin — or was the world moving around him? He grabbed the wall for support, frowning to himself. Perhaps he hadn't eaten enough, or maybe that spider bite was venomous than he'd thought...

"I think I hear something," came George's hushed voice — the signal.

Dream made his footsteps light as he crept through the cave. The hunters were walking softly, too, yet every clink of their armour was a giveaway to their location — did they never learn?

He gripped his wooden crossbow (he still couldn't believe George had let him have it) and aimed it down the cavern. He was on higher ground to the hunters, on an isolated ledge, crouched on his tip-toes as he waited for the three men to meander down the hall.

He notched the arrow back as far as it would go, the string groaning ever so slightly in the stillness of the cave.

"Did you hear that?"

The youngest of the hunters, the one with glasses and short hair, stepped into Dream's target zone obliviously, and the arrow was gone in an instant, a fraction of a second, and it was already embedded in the roof above him. Any other person may consider this a mistake. But Dream didn't make mistakes.

Instantaneously, Dream's trap came into effect: the weak stone structure crumpled, sending a shower of gravel right on top of the young Hunter. Dream smirked a little at the sight of him, crushed beneath the weight of a thousand tiny pebbles. How humbling that must be.

"Bad!" George yelled, and the shock was real. Dream supposed he hadn't been expecting the traps to be so... good. But his only rule had been no death, and there we go.

Bad was hurt, angry, crushed — literally — but definitely not dead.

The oldest of the hunters, the dark-haired and muscular one with a slight stubble, turned to face Dream with murderous intent.

"Oh, hello," Dream called over casually. "You've all fallen into my trap."

"Sapnap, get me out of here," Bad said furiously.

"You missed two of us," the other one — Sapnap — snapped, ignoring his friend.

"Did I?" Dream smiled. "Seems to me you're all in the lion's den now."

George huffed, "Or it seems you're trapped. Out of options. Resorting to pretty tricks."

Dream's eyes actually narrowed. He couldn't tell if he himself was faking being provoked, but the malice in George's voice was real.

Sapnap had drawn an arrow back incredibly subtly as Dream's attention was on George, however his peripheral vision allowed him to dodge to the left just in the nick of time. The arrow hit the wall behind him, smashing uselessly into stone.

"Nice try," he beamed, and then jumped down to the lower cavern.

They were running in an instant, leaving the other Hunter behind, who was grunting in an effort to breathe beneath the weight.

One down. Two to go.

He led the two men down a winding cave, one he'd mapped out in memory, and set off the tripwire just as he felt them gaining on him...

Only to turn and find that George had taken the lead, and it was _George_ who was caught up in his mesh trap, hoisted to the roof of the cave.

Shit. That wasn't what Dream had been betting on.

He gave George a deliberately exasperated look, and he had the nerve to look insulted, like it wasn't his complete stupidity that led him to literally falling for a trap that he knew about.

Sapnap was the most merciless one of the three, undoubtedly, and there he stood with grim determination, taking a defensive stance.

A face-off.

Dream would have to improvise. Fine.

"I won't fall for your traps," the man said coldly, just as Dream was preparing to lure him somewhere else. "And I've had enough of chasing you."

"I'm afraid I haven't had enough of running away."

"Of course not. A coward never tires of running."

That made Dream hesitate. He shouldn't be provoked by such a thing, but...

Sapnap lowered his weapon. "Duel me."

Now he _definitely_ hadn't been expecting that. He glanced briefly over Sapnap's shoulder to see George furiously writhing in the net, to no avail (again, Dream's traps were good).

Clearing his throat, he said, "You want to duel me?"

"It's not an option, actually. I challenge you to a fight. You win, you keep running. You lose, you give in."

Dream never lost. But his hands were still tied. His body was still aching. He was still so tired.   
Then again, he wanted this to be over.

He surrendered his crossbow. "Fine. I need a sword."

"Fine." The Hunter reached for an iron sword at his belt, the same as George's, with the King's emblem. He tossed it, and Dream watched as it clattered at his feet — so Sapnap was _serious_ about this. Maybe he was as tired as running as he was.

Dream held the hilt with both hands. He'd threatened George with it many times before, yet it wouldn't be easy to fight in an entire duel with wrists that were painfully clasped together. Dream didn't leave room for doubt, though. He'd never let it slow him down before (though he supposed that was why he was so prone to reckless decisions).

The Hunter charged at him without warning.

He slashed out furiously, the blade headed to Dream's exposed arms.

Dream blocked the first few swipes, but it was like swatting at a swarm of mosquitos... the hits just kept coming.

When Dream was starting to be forced back by the force of the blows, he feinted left and swung down hard on the right, catching the gap in his armour. The man howled in pain, which was gratifying, but he recovered sooner than he'd been anticipating, and Dream wasn't ready for the next hit.

His rival's blade cut through his trousers, leaving a sizeable slash on his thigh. And it hurt. Not much, but it was enough to clear Dream's head.

Their swords collided with a loud clang of sound, vibrating through Dream's limbs. Again and again, their blades met.

Twice Dream came close to being hit.

Sapnap didn't fight like George, like he was hesitating. He was fighting without emotion, or perhaps with too much — he was ruthless. Almost as if he was fighting to kill.

Dream landed a good hit on the Hunter's shoulder, forcing him to stagger back. He held his bleeding shoulder — Dream sword had cut straight through the armoury — with gritted teeth, long dark hair falling into his even darker eyes.

"Had enough?" Dream goaded.

Sapnap gnashed his teeth, blood seeping through his fingers as he held his wound. "Never."

Well, he sure was determined, Dream'd give him that. Maybe too determined, because his sword was suddenly alarmingly close to Dream's throat as Sapnap thrashed out towards him again.

"Hey," he blurted, after parrying, "That's not part of the game. You slit my throat, it's over."

The other Hunter was smiling. "Afraid to die?"

"The Bounty, Sapnap," George yelled from his trap.

George's voice was momentarily distracting, only because Dream hadn't been expecting it, but it was enough hesitation for Sapnap to launch his sword straight into his shoulder, piercing the flesh just above his collarbone. Dream hissed out at the sudden burst of fire in his vulnerable shoulder, wrenching Sapnap's sword out with his tied hands, dropping his own weapon in the process.

He held Sapnap's sword out, at his exposed throat, the blade now slick with crimson, and stood on his own sword.

"There," he panted at a defenceless Sapnap. "You lose."

He just smirked at his shoulder, raising his hands slightly. "That looks like it hurt."

Dream's knees were weak, his vision blurring — he needed to sit down, suddenly he felt like he hadn't rested in months. Each word felt like effort as he sneered, "I was cuffed and weak and you _still_ lost. You're disarmed, now I get to keep running."

"I don't think so," the Hunter drawled, and Dream tensed, thinking he was reaching for another weapon, but he lurched forward too quickly for Dream to process, his instincts were screaming at him to stab him through the chest, right now, he should do it now, but he'd _promised_ George—

His indecision cost him.

Sapnap threw a powerful right hook, catching Dream's jaw and knocking him to the side. His vision swam with the hit, he was losing focus... _Why the hell was he losing focus?_ Another punch connected with his nose and he sensed the ground rushing up to meet him.

Some faraway part of him realised, _yeah, this is bad_. He really should have stabbed Sapnap.

Sapnap had his sword all of a sudden, it was hovering above his chest, over his heart.

"I could kill you, Dream," he murmured. "But you deserve a slow death, one without mercy."

He could feel the warm blood seeping from his nose, thick in his mouth. His voice was hoarse. "You need me alive."

"Yeah, until the King has you. And trust me when I say," his slowly hitched up his armour, revealing long scars on his chest and stomach, "you won't find any mercy with him."

Dream wasn't afraid. He'd never been afraid, not of the king, certainly not of the hunters. But he'd fucked up, again. In trusting George, he'd fucked up. The plan had failed. It was George's fault, too, for falling into a fucking tripwire...was he blind? He wasn't the most observant of creatures...Dream must have hit his head too hard, because his mind was spiralling — why was he thinking about _George_?

Sapnap leaned over him as black spots began to taint his vision. Even so, Dream couldn't hold his damned tongue: "You expect to get anywhere when you let the King walk all over you? Rich of you to call _me_ a coward."

He was grabbed by the scruff of his hoodie and hoisted up, so he winced instinctively, with no hands to cover his face, only to glimpse, through his blur of bloody vision, that George had miraculously cut free from the trap, he was crouched on the ground, as if he'd just gently fallen from the net.

There was a loud metal _CLANG_! and Sapnap instantly collapsed, practically on top of Dream, who wriggled back in surprise.

Sapnap was out cold. George stood over him, white-faced, holding an axe. He'd hit him with the butt of the axe — George had _knocked him out._

Dream exhaled a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "You... I can't believe you just..."

"He wanted to kill you, and you were going to- going to piss him off enough-" George was stammering. He dropped the axe, his arms trembling. "I had to. I _had_ to."

Dream lay on his back, breathing ruggedly. He didn't think he could get back up. "You fell into my trap."

"And you lost a fight," George retaliated.

Dream had a sour taste in his mouth. "I didn't—"

"Shut up, Dream, please," he said in a strained voice. He laid out Sapnap's sword beneath him and took all their things. "Get up. Bad is still stuck, Sapnap will get him, I'm sure, when he wakes..."

Dream struggled to his knees, his feet. Every movement was like fire, every movement was blindsiding. Why the _fuck_ did it hurt so bad?

"George," he said softly, gripping the side of the wall. There was blood on his hoodie, his hands. "I can barely..."

"Don't be difficult right now," he said with cutting calm. "We need to get out of here, I need to make it look like you took me."

Smart. Dream was too indulged in his agony to appreciate it.

George seemed warped in front of him. Everything was suddenly incredibly hot and uncomfortable, he was being suffocated. This wasn't right. Something was wrong.

He felt something grab his right shoulder, the one that wasn't throbbing. Then a voice. "Dream, what's wrong with you."

"I don't know," Dream mumbled, staggering.

Arms wrapped around him, and his instincts screamed at him to _run_ , because he was caught, they'd got him, he was going to lose his family... But those arms were so sturdy and warm, and he caught a whiff of campfire and ash and grass before he melted into the darkness of his own consciousness.


	11. Crystals and Foxgloves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> george is left to take care of dream, against his better judgement

George's heart was lodged in his throat, making it incredibly difficult to swallow. He'd dragged Dream from the main cave system, tugging him along with a great deal of effort, trying to keep his uneven breath quiet, in fear of the other Hunters waking.

He wasn't certain if they would be fooled with what happened. Hopefully they'd figure out that Dream had somehow outsmarted them all, like he always did, and that George had gone after him, or was taken hostage. He'd left the scene in disarray to make it seem like a struggle, though the thought of Sapnap and Bad insistently haunted him, hounding him with guilt.

All he'd known in that split-second was that Sapnap was letting his rage consume him, as it often did, and that he was unpredictable. He didn't know how far he would have gone to hurt Dream, and if he'd killed him... There would be no bounty, maybe George and the Hunters would finally get the glory for it, but that didn't feel enough anymore. He knew Sapnap and Bad hated him - hell, a small part of him still argued that Dream's death would benefit them all - but that didn't mean it was _right_. In all honesty, George couldn't see an end to this where Dream got away alive. Maybe he could see his family first, though, as a small mercy. Maybe that would be enough for him, and George wanted to at least give him the possibility. It only felt fair.

Now - his main problem. _Dream_.

George had dragged his useless ass through several tunnels before finding a secluded cave tucked into the corner of a larger cavern. The self-contained hollow was fluorescent, painted in a misty soft blue light. It took George a moment to realise the culprit was a cluster of crystals on the ceiling, reflecting against a small pool in the corner. He'd appreciate the beauty of it if he weren't so suffocated with anxiety.

Finally, George released his prisoner against the wall, his muscles protesting and aching as he attempted to keep him in a seated position, even as his head keep stubbornly lolling to the side. He was out cold, which was ironic to think, considering his skin was hot to the touch. George set his stuff down, checked briefly that no one was around or nearby, though the caves were as still and as silent as the water in the small iridescent pool.

He looked at Dream. Dark crimson stains covered the majority of his battered green hoodie, so George decided to tug it off him, revealing a tight grey shirt and a lousy chest-plate - almost as if he'd crafted it himself from leather (he probably had). His left collarbone and shoulder was a mess of blood. There was a gaping wound that seemed to keep gushing, and not only that, but the injury was tinted green and yellow, a sign of infection... or... no, George had _seen_ this before, when another Knight on the King's army had been attacked by a mutant spider all those years ago. He'd rushed to the castle, wild-eyed and fatigued, only to collapse on the floor before the King. George hadn't witnessed what actually happened to him, only the dramatic entrance, but what followed was rumours of the Knight's hysteria and agony as the poison slowly took over his motor functions, his control. George never really believed such trivial things, though he hadn't seen that Knight since.

Nauseous, he went to his supply bag to grab bandages and cloth and dipped them into the pristine lake before using them to gently clean the wound. The bite and stab were intermingled: Sapnap must've reopened the initial spider bite. A stab wound was easy enough to treat, but the spider had bitten Dream a while ago now, some thirty hours had passed since, so the poison was seeping into his system.

 _It's probably already too late_ , a part of him whispered. The more stubborn part of him was already thinking of a cure.

With shaking hands he tied the clean bandages over the deep cut in his shoulder, fastening it tightly around Dream's limp body, while his mind raced for options. Dream was breathing erratically now, and his skin was already so hot... he was in a feverous state, he was unconscious... If George didn't do something to prevent the symptoms, he wasn't sure what would happen. But he had to do _something_. 

He watched Dream for a moment, mesmerized, wracking his brain for anything he could think of to help him. He’d been given training on animal bites — there were legends of dragons, undead creatures and hellish creatures straight out of nightmares, but mutant spiders were a normalcy, outside the King's Court of course. They were taught about it. 

Spider bites... they were fatal, obviously, but almost everything had a cure, or at least a way to relieve the pain...

George realized he was staring at Dream’s lips, and his face went hot despite Dream literally being unconscious. It wasn’t as if he were going to make a witty response and embarrass him, or smirk at him in that stupidly knowing way of his — he probably thought he knew _everything_ , he had this self-assured confidence that drove George mad...

He tore his gaze furiously from him, instead focusing on the small pool of water. Moss littered the rock, slick and dark green. Then it clicked. _Plants_. Plants with healing properties like... foxgloves. It was a shot in the dark, but it was better than nothing, and the magenta flowers were easily distinguishable against the green meadows above them. He stared at Dream, still unresponsive but definitely breathing, and set off before he could change his own mind.

•

Bad and Sapnap's harnesses were still hanging, so it was easy to hoist himself out of the narrow gap. The fresh air seeped into his lungs, his foggy mind becoming clearer almost instantaneously. His gaze raked the flat land. There was nothing for miles, they'd come pretty far out into the plains - that was good for flowers. George set off at the sight of bright pink and grabbed three healthy flowers.

The sun beat down on him, soft and reassuring, and George couldn't help but think of his predicament as he made his way back. He'd chosen Dream - _Dream_ \- over the Hunters he'd known his entire life, for Dream's family. It was starting to feel like Dream's pity story wasn't the only reason he was doing this. He couldn't help but think about Dream being executed in front of the entire Court, in front of the smug King. He didn't think he could watch such a thing, whether Dream deserved it or not.

He wasn't a stranger to death, evidently, but _Dream_ dying just didn't sit right with him. 

"Isn't that what I want?" he asked himself, as if he could possibly provide an answer to his own stupid question.

That's what he thought he wanted, not too long ago, yet Dream was no longer that immortal, emotionless and good-for-nothing bandit, at least not in George's mind. He was just reckless, foolish and... and _intimidating_ , but only with that dumb mask on (figuratively and literally). Underneath, he was inquisitive, perceptive. Charming, even, if he weren't so annoying, and he had good intentions despite his methods.

George reached the hole and listened hard for any sign that Bad and Sapanap were nearby. When silence greeted him in response, he slipped down and made his way back to Dream, holding the flowers gently in his palms.

•

Dream's eyes flew open, startling George, who'd been shaking his arm. 

"You're awake," George blurted, immediately letting go, and already wanting to take the idiotic words back.

His murky green eyes were glassy and unfocused as he murmured, "You're... How did I..."

"You fainted," he deadpanned, "and it was charming."

He smiled ever so slightly, and the sight of it seemed to relieve the tightness of George's chest. Dream tried to sit up and groaned, his teeth clenched. 

"Sore?" he wanted to sound mocking and lighthearted, but even he heard the strain of his own voice.

"I'm..." he cleared his throat that resulted in a coughing fit, making George wince. "Thirsty," he said finally, and George obediently went to the cave pool, strangely flustered. He'd felt in control in the entirety of his looking after Dream, but now that he was awake...

He took the bowl with water in his two hands, cupping it to his lips. George couldn't help but watch - Dream's hands were trembling, his eyes narrowed as if it took him a great deal of focus to simply drink.

He finished it remarkably quickly and mumbled, "Gonna be honest... m'not feeling too good."

"You're poisoned. But I think you knew that."

Dream nodded slowly. His hair was matted and sweaty, curls falling over his eyes, long lashes lowered. He seemed ashamed. He was definitely avoiding eye contact all of a sudden.

George frowned at him. "You wouldn't have said anything, would you?" When Dream didn't even deign to _look_ at him, he pushed, "Are you that proud?"

His head raised, exposing his glare. "You _imprisoned_ me. Why would I tell you if I was poisoned?"

Well, at least he was talking again. "You must've known it was lethal."

"Of course I did." Why did he have to sound so self-assured, even now? He was _dying_.

"And?" George glared at him.

He glared right back. "And I was handling it."

"Is fainting _handling_ it?"

"What do you want from me?" Dream blurted, his jaw set. "I'm going to die. Did you bring me here to watch me? To gloat?"

Incredulous, George gestured to the cave, saying in a hiss, "You think I brought you here just to gloat?"

"I don't know," he snapped. "You're confusing and... your motives never seem clear."

"Excuse me?"

"You can't make up your mind," Dream seemed to be gaining confidence the more he spoke: "You always do what benefits _you_ , like getting a position with the King, like killing me, until you realised I wasn't what you thought and now you're feeling guilty... and now you want to feel like you can save me by betraying your friends, to justify everything."

For a moment, George was rendered speechless, and he could see that this made Dream smug, the ungrateful bastard. He hunched his shoulders, bitterness rising in his stomach, his throat. With acid in his mouth, he said, "To further _justify_ everything, here's something to chew on when you're done feeling sorry for yourself."

Dream stared blankly at the flowers he'd thrown. George tore his gaze away before he could reply, storming over to the cave pool with the supplies, and wondered if this man even felt bad for what he said - maybe it was an aftereffect of the poison, or maybe he was being a dickhead because he lost a fight he should have won. Either way, George hated how some fragment of his soul was remorseful of Dream, how he pitied him and actually _wanted_ to help him. Family issues or not, did he really deserve to be saved?

_You always do what benefits you._

The words stung more than they probably should, and replayed tauntingly in his head alone as he sat down, pretending to be busy cleaning his armour.

•

Dream chewed thoughtfully on the foxglove petals, eyes trained on the Hunter. He was pissed off and trying desperately hard to ignore Dream - he was probably fighting his urge to run back to the Hunters. The silence was deafening, Dream knew that the words had struck George (as he'd expected) but he had _meant_ what he said - George was a fluctuating mess of altering opinions and feelings, he never knew what he wanted. He was confusing, frustrating, downright _stupid_ at times... Dream couldn't trust him, especially when his allegiance was so murky, and he'd been bracing himself for betrayal the moment George had claimed he wanted to help him.

Even so, Dream was safe and warm. He felt cooler, more relaxed, probably from the plant, and he'd evaded death despite being at Sapnap's mercy. He should be dead - _very_ dead - and George had saved him. And now he was repaying George by treating him like shit.

Before he could mull over his words too much, Dream said, "Hey, Hunter. I didn't mean what I said."

George's shoulders tightened. He looked over at him, brows lowered. He wasn't wearing armour anymore - he'd hung it by the cave pool, the iron was gleaming in the reflection of the pool's glimmer. His clothes were all black and simple - disorienting but comforting, because it didn't feel like he was trying to be something he wasn't. 

Dream cleared his throat. "Well... okay, I meant what I said, but I said it mostly to hurt you, so..."

George didn't meet his eyes and said in a low voice, "Guilty conscious, Dream?"

A laugh escaped his lips unexpectedly, making his ribs ache. "I- yeah, I guess that's it."

"And that's basically your version of an apology, right?" 

"Never said I was apologising. Don't get ahead of yourself."

The Hunter's eyes rolled, but his lips were twitching, as if he were fighting a smile. He came to sit by Dream, and sighed to himself before saying, "I was feeling guilty, too. I did pity you for what you told me, and yeah, a small part of me considered the possibility that you were saying it on purpose, to guilt-trip me into helping you. I don't think you're above doing something like that."

Lips parting, Dream felt an argument straining to be expressed, but something told him to hold his tongue, and listen, for once. The medicine really was messing him up, if it promoted patience of all things.

"But I also meant it when I said I wanted to help. I can recognise when something isn't right, or fair. You losing your family isn't fair, and neither is it fair that the Hunters... that _I_ stopped you from finding them. And you didn't steal to be difficult, you stole for them. At least initially." His expression turned hard. "I still hate you and believe you deserve to be locked up, I always will. But that can wait. You've been wanted for three years, what's another few going to do?"

Dream stared at him, eyes wide. Words simply failed him.

"Once you find your family, though, I'm done. You're not my problem anymore."

He recovered, if only to pounce on the opportunity to say, "I think I'll always be your problem - you're clearly _obsessed_ with capturing me." He lifted his cuffed hands as evidence.

His cheeks flushed just as Dream anticipated, a satisfying sight to say the least. He huffed out a small sigh. "You're ridiculous."

Dream smiled. They lapsed into a comfortable silence.

His muscles were still barking with pain every time he so much as readjusted, and the burning sensation was most prominent in his shoulder and thigh. He didn't feel as hot and dizzy, like he was going to melt through his own skin, but exhaustion was creeping up on him despite having been knocked out for... however long. He couldn't believe how close he'd come to death. First, he was at Sapnap's mercy. Then, the poison he blatantly ignored. Both times, George had helped him.

"You've saved my life twice now," he said suddenly, and the thought made him want to squirm.

The egotistical smile on George's face wasn't helping. "That's two-one to me, then."

_Oh, so it was a competition?_

Sarcastically, he asked, "How could I ever repay you?"

"Oh, I don't know." He turned to his bag, sorting through his supplies with a smirk tainting his lips. "You being under my control is enough."

Dream didn't reply, just focused purposefully on his bound hands, praying that George mistook the blush on his face for the effects of the poison.


	12. Close Proximity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> dream recovers and george realises he's in too deep

George watched the sun rising on the cavern wall, a soft orange glow that slowly grew brighter. They’d reached the next morning — George had been awake, blearily watching the glow on the ceiling and listening out for the Hunters. Dream had been passed out for hours now, and he needed the rest. 

He looked so vulnerable when he slept, his expression completely relaxed and open, so at odds with his personality. 

George didn’t know how they were going to do this. How could he make the Hunters believe Dream was dead? He couldn’t just disappear forever... could he?

Part of him didn’t want Dream to disappear. 

He knew the only way he’d really escalate in the Court was by proving he could do his job — capturing Dream would be instantly gratifying, but then the chase would be over. Killing him, on the other hand... there would be no bounty, the King made it clear he wanted to punish Dream himself, but there would definitely be attention... Festivals, celebrations... 

George would be a hero. He would be everything he wanted, and then he’d even raise enough money to buy a house for him and the Hunters, plus the pressure of catching Dream would be gone eternally. The other Hunters would never again be hurt for their — or his own — failure.

And... maybe, just maybe, Dream could get away forever, too, with the entire world believing him to be gone.

George watched him. In the luminescent lighting, the splatter of freckles on Dream’s nose and cheeks was easily distinguished. He didn’t think he’d noticed them before.

Did George _want_ Dream to be gone? 

Dream stirred, blearily opening his eyes as he gradually sat up. “Mmmm?”

George looked away, embarrassed. “Good sleep?”

“Yeah, actually.” He rubbed at his eyes with his shoulder — his hands were still stuck. “Best I’ve had in a long time.” 

“Good for you.”

“You were watching?”

When George’s throat went dry with mortification, Dream quickly reiterated, “I mean, watching guard.”

“Yes,” he blurted. “I was.”

“Are the Hunters still here?”

“I don’t know." He didn't want to look at him. "I should check.”

“Is that wise?” 

_Probably not._ “Yes. I told you, I have a plan.”

“Ah, good, because your first plan went swimmingly,” Dream scoffed. 

“It did.”

“I got _stabbed_.”

“Not my problem.”

“Also,” he drawled, sitting up properly. “I noticed I wasn’t wearing my hoodie. Do I have you to thank for that?”

“Yes,” George replied hotly, fidgeting on the spot. “And the bandages, and cleaning away all the blood. You’re welcome.”

Dream wasn’t listening. “So... you undressed me while I was unconscious?”

 _That’s_ what he was taking away from all of this? Not — _thank you, for saving my life, George_? 

George ran his hands over his eyes. "Did you seriously just say that?”

“I’m just stating facts, no?” Mischief crept into his eyes, but he retained an annoyingly innocent composure. 

This man was _impossible_. George felt restless, like he needed suddenly to run (preferably away from Dream). 

Dream laughed under his breath, watching George attentively. “Do you know how easy you are to annoy?”

“Do you know how annoying you are in general?” George threw down the supply bag as he gruffly got up, jaw clenched too hard for him to speak. He just couldn’t comprehend how ungrateful he’d been, how he still managed to be so smug and aggravating, having come so close to death, even the _sight_ of him drive George mad—

“I don’t _mean_ to be irritating," Dream insisted. "It’s just funny to see you flustered.”

Whirling around instantly, George opened his mouth to retaliate, but the look on Dream’s face made him stop: his dark brows were raised just slightly, verdant eyes lazy and careless, lips curved into the smallest of smirks, with ample satisfaction on his face, rendering George speechless.

“See what I mean?" Dream revelled. "You go all quiet and hopeless and start stumbling over your words...”

Butterflies erupted in his stomach. He couldn’t _believe_ what he was hearing. 

And just because Dream maintained that conceited look, just because George was actually afraid that he might be right, just because he was starting to panic—

George grabbed his discarded clean armour, one of his boots, and chucked it— straight at Dream’s stupid face.

He ducked, of course, his reflexes were insane, but the shock on his face was worth it.

“Did you really just throw a _shoe_ at me?”

When George just stared at him, trying to focus on his breathing and deliberating on throwing another one, he inadvertently left room for Dream to speak again.

He said, quieter, “Before you _mercilessly_ attacked me with that boot, I was leading up to a ‘thank-you’. For saving my life.”

George composed himself as he listened.

“And... it sucks that you didn’t get any sleep. Thank you for making sure I didn’t die.”

“Two ‘thank you’s in a row,” George couldn’t help but point out. “You’ve changed.”

“I’ve been humbled by my predicament.” He said it in a light tone, but George knew better than to take it at face value. Dream was hurt, and in a mental sense just as much as physical. He didn’t like to be bested, and he certainly didn’t like to be saved. George wondered if it was hard for him to say thank you because it hurt more to be grateful than it did to be... a dick.

“Okay. Come back. I didn’t mean to make you angry.”

George narrowed his eyes at that - _come back_. “You want me to sit back there?”

Dream nodded, pursing his lips and crossing his legs leisurely, his head resting against the wall, shuffling back to allow space.

“Why.”

“I want to hear your plan.”

“I’ll tell you if you tell me... your name.”

A chuckle from Dream. “ _What_? Why?” He emphasized the ‘t’, his Southern drawl more prominent.

George didn’t even know why he’d said it. 

He walked back over, rubbing his eyes. “It only seems fair.”

“You’re going to have to tell me the plan either way,” Dream pointed out. “But my name has nothing to do with it.”

“It’s just a name.”

“I’m not telling you my real name,” Dream snorted. Some of the amusement had left his face, George wondered if he’d somehow pried too far. 

He sat next to him again, sighing. “Attachment issues to your name _and_ your bag, okay. You’re becoming more readable.”

“Readable?” He echoed in a small voice, frowning.

George’s eyes focused on the shimmering reflection above them. “My plan is to essentially fake your death. I’m leaving this cavern with a bloodied mask and a bloodied sword. And you will be _officially_ dead.”

“I’m starting to think I’m immortal,” Dream nodded to his bloodied cast. George wondered if he was still too weak to stand, and just refused to say it. His stubbornness seemed to control him. 

"Just lucky," George replied. "Like, insanely so."

When Dream remained quiet, eyes trained on his hands, George went on, “I’ll go to the King and the Hunters, say I chased you down, you put up a fight, but I won.” Even saying it out loud sounded ridiculously absurd. George beating Dream? “Then you go, and you don’t come back.”

“And you? You won’t get a bounty.”

“I’ll get...” he thought about the King, and his words faltered. “The Hunters and I, we can move on. Maybe get stationed somewhere else. Maybe even get promoted.”

Dream didn’t smile with him. “You don’t sound excited.”

George considered before speaking. “It’s not... the most glamorous of jobs.”

“Really? Not even the finery and status appeals to you?”

George felt his muscles tense at the judgement in his voice. “I’m practically broke, Dream. My allowance relies on the King and his whims. I got good at reading him, at getting what I wanted. But lately he’s been difficult, because he's stressed.”  
  
Dream’s eyebrow raised. “Stressed?”

George looked up, realizing too late what he’d done, coming too close to revealing something about the King. “You did that on purpose,” he snapped, feeling used.

“What?”

“You’re trying to get information from me.”

Dream shook his head, then his eyes went wide. “Shut up, George.”

He was _so_ going to launch another boot at him. “ _Don’t_ tell me to shut-“

“ _Actually_ , shut up.”

Then he heard it. Soft murmuring, alongside clanks of boots and armour. Quiet, but getting louder.

The Hunters.

“Shit,” George hissed. _They were already up?_

He hurried over to grab his clean armour, strapping it on vigorously. Dream was standing in the corner of the room, looking around as if there were possibly anywhere to hide. George found himself doing the same as panic bundled under his chest, gaining momentum. 

“George, here, quick,” Dream had found a small passageway. In fact, no, it was a small engraving in the wall, barely big enough for one person, let alone two. 

George glared at him, face going hot. “No way!”

“What other choice do we have?”

Their voices were so much louder. George caught one of them - Bad - saying his name, and Sapnap saying “Over here”, and the panic took over. 

George shoved Dream into the small space. His back hit the wall, and George pressed up against him so that they were both hidden from view. Dream peered down at him - he was a foot taller than him, and George never noticed how towering he looked this close up… and the mismatched blonde-and-brown curls of his hair, the freckles on his face, the flecks of copper in his green irises…

Dream opened his mouth, those full lips barely parted, and whispered, “Like what you see?”

Furiously, George threw his hand over Dream’s smirking lips, and he felt him smile beneath his fingers. 

Voices floated into the room: “I could’ve sworn I heard something.”

“I can see footprints leading this way.” 

They were _in_ the cave - just a wall stood between them and the Hunters. George felt his heart in his throat, pounding painfully. He couldn’t believe he was doing this. They were so, so screwed. 

George pushed forward further, ever so slightly, so that his chest was pressed against Dream’s. Dream went still at the contact, the smugness gone from his face, replaced by what appeared to be panic, and the sight of it sent a thrill of satisfaction through George. Normally he couldn’t bear to look him in the eyes, but when he appeared so flustered and, well, quiet... now George suddenly couldn’t look away, and it was _Dream_ who's eyes were evasive.

He watched his Adam’s apple bounce up and down, trying to read him — what he was thinking, and feeling. Focusing on Dream shoved some of his anxiety down and yet heightened it all at once - the proximity was stifling. 

He heard the Hunters step into the cave. They were circling the room. 

George held his breath and leaned even closer. 

“Get some water while we’re here,” Sapnap murmured, voice low. “They can’t be far.”

Dream and George held eye contact that didn’t break. He was hyperaware of their bodies pressed together, how he could feel Dream’s hard chest beneath his palm, and his soft lips beneath his other hand, how Dream’s cuffs were pushed between them, resting by George’s thighs. 

Mind racing almost as fast as his heart, he glared up at Dream as if to say _I hate you, this is your fault_ , and Dream merely raised his eyebrows in response. He wondered if his mind was as scattered as George's.

Splashes of water. The sounds of trickling water. Bad saying, “Do you think George is okay?”

George’s fingers tightened unconsciously, and Dream looked down at his hand in silent response. 

“I don’t know. Gods, I hope he got Dream. I don’t want the King to…” Sapnap sighed out, and George knew him well enough to identify the strain in his voice. He was desperate, he was panicked. It wasn’t fair. He didn’t deserve this. “Look, either way, it’s going to be bad for us.”

Silence, for a moment. George started counting his erratic heartbeat, and reached fifty by the time Bad responded, “Sometimes I think we shouldn’t go back.”

“You're being ridiculous,” Sapnap replied sharply, his words too rushed for George to believe them - he knew when he was lying. “Let’s go, and pass that water…my head is killing me.” 

Their footsteps gradually faded, slow and deliberate, and George let out all the air he’d been holding, the relief hitting him like a ton of bricks. He felt weak, all of a sudden, his knees rendered useless. He grabbed the walls for support.

Dream exhaled too, and rested his head on the wall. “Fuck. That was close.”

George shoved him in the chest so he banged against the wall again. “I can’t _believe_ you made me do that.”

Incredulous, Dream gawked at him. “What? We had to hide. I _saved_ us."

“You wanted it. You…” George should really stop, because he felt all uncertain and hot and bothered. He felt as though he were about to burn through his own skin. “You _enjoyed_ it.”

Dream scoffed, but George didn't miss the way his cheeks went pink. “You were the one who got all into my personal space.”

They stood face-to-face, still breathing heavy, still retaining that electrifying - and terrifying - eye contact. George couldn’t tell if he wanted to punch him in the teeth or… or… be close to him again.

“Don’t take your guilt out on me,” Dream grated out. “You chose to help me, so stick with it.”

“I made a mistake.”

“So why are you still here? Huh? Why won’t you let me leave?”

“You could have left at any time,” George said, enraged but still working to consciously keep his voice low. He channelled his frustration into clenching his hands to fists and gritting his teeth so hard that he thought they’d break. “You know you could kill me and take the map, but you haven’t. Explain that.”

Dream spluttered, “We have a deal and I’m cuffed.”

“You know what? No, you’re not.” Furiously, George wrestled through his bag and showed Dream the small key. He grabbed Dream’s hands - which were so cold, and so coarse, not soft like his own. His knuckles were dark and bruised - they always seemed to be that way.

The cuffs cracked open with a loud clank that filled the cavern’s endless silence as they hit the floor. Then, he shoved the map into Dream’s hands, his own shaking as he snapped, “There. So leave. Deal’s off.”


	13. Tension

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> things are tense between dream and george.

Dream really was speechless. He glanced between the crumpled map, the handcuffs, and George. Then he said, slowly, “I don’t understand.”

“You can go,” George said impatiently. “I’ll tell them you’re dead, gone. Just go away.”

His body language was all stiff and angry. Dream didn’t think he’d seen him so pissed, and he’d been pissed most of the time they’d been around each other. Normally this was amusing to Dream, but his body was still recovering from his injuries and… his mind was attempting to recover from being so close to George. Now, however, his anger was overwhelming, and made Dream inclined to shy away from it - and he didn’t shy away from anything.

“I can’t go now,” he said, and he meant it. “I wouldn’t make it far.”

The words pained him to say, but he didn’t feel like lying to spare his pride, not now. George seeing him be beat to a bloody pulp had stripped him of most of his ego, anyway.

“And,” he pushed, taking advantage of George’s quietness, “what do you want to follow them for? You’re treated like shit over there, and it's not a stable job and, no offence, but none of you seem happy… like, ever. I always thought it was because you hated me, but I think you all sort of… hate yourselves, too.”

His eyes went darker than usual, none of that honey warmth that Dream was receiving when they were stuck together, his hand on Dream’s lips…

“I _do_ hate you, and do _not_ attempt to pull your mind-games on me right now, I’m so sick of you acting like you know everything-“

“Am I wrong, George?" he asked impatiently. "It's obvious you’re not happy.”

“Yeah, because I have to kill you! For three years, that’s all I had to do, and I could never do it. Not just because you ran away, I can't even fucking do it, now. I don’t have it in me, I never have.” George stepped back, eyes wide, apparently surprised at his own words. Dream expected once more for George to push him aside, but he continued: “I just wanted to prove to everyone I could do it, for once, but you ruined everything. Like you always do. Every problem I’ve had for the past three years, Dream.” He looked up slowly. “Is because of you.”

It felt like a hit to the gut. Dream was the cause of all of George’s misery - and the other Hunters, and probably a great deal of others. He knew that, obviously, he didn’t care, he never had, but seeing George so open… his frustration was hitting Dream in waves, infecting him, and he felt more hurt than smug about George’s condition. This was his fault, after all. 

And finally, George was sick of him — enough so that he was letting Dream go.

Dream shoved the map in his trouser pocket, eyes on George. He gnawed on his lower lip, mind working for something, anything, to say. 

“Leave,” George insisted, crossing his arms.

"You said you'd help me."

"I've already done too much for you. You don't deserve it. You should have died, I should have _let_ you die."

"But you didn't." Dream stood between George and the exit of the cave, for he'd started to gather his things. "And I'm not just alive today because you pitied me."

He mumbled, "Get out of the way," with his eyes downcast.

Dream placed his palms on George's shoulders, the mere contact itself feeling like a sin. His brain seemed to lose all sense, becoming a galaxy of opposing thoughts, most of which told him this was a _very_ bad idea. His traitorous mouth opened to say, "Admit it."

With impressive speed, George held his blade to Dream's throat - _this is familiar_.

"Shut up and get out of my way."

Dream raised his hands submissively, but he wasn't done. He didn't like to be told to hold his tongue, it only made him more inclined to talk. Besides, wasn't the sword more of a token at this point, anyway? George had just admitted to his inability to kill him, after all.

Resolutely he said, "You liked being pressed up against me, you liked hiding from the Hunters. You _like_ running away, because you're bored of the chase."

The other man inhaled sharply. "Dream, I swear to the gods, I will-"

"What? Tell me I'm wrong?"

George's brows pinched together. "You are insufferable."

"And you're too stubborn," he insisted, ignoring how George tilted the sword closer to his throat. "Look, yesterday, when I said you do whatever benefits you, I was a little off. You do what you think is _right_ for you, not anyone else, and it's a good thing, but now you're letting the Hunters sway your judgement."

"What on earth are you talking about? I was always going to go back to them." When Dream just raised an inquisitive eyebrow, he resumed, "I belong with the Hunters and you belong to the King. It's how it is."

Dream had to fight the urge to roll his eyes. "Come on, now. You can't believe that. You don't hate me, George. Not anymore."

"I hate what you're saying. I hate that you're using my name and I hate that you're in my way." He huffed out, nostrils flaring. "So please, _move_."

 _Hate, hate, hate._ He threw the words around so callously.

Dream dared to hold the end of the sword with his fingertips, lowering it from his chin. "No."

The sword fell to George's side, who's frustration was evident. "You're trying to prove a point, aren't you?"

"Maybe."

Wearily, George said, "I'm tired. I don't get why you won't let me leave. Isn't this what you want?"

"I don't want you to go." Dream wanted to snatch the words back as soon as they tumbled out, but there was no retracting them now. They'd exploded on the ground, setting ablaze the ground between them. Neither of them could ignore the fire, so Dream quickly said, "I'm sure you want me to leave you alone, but I also know you stick to your word. So don't just leave, please."

George's eyes were wide, his face seemingly paler than usual - did his skin always look so smooth? He didn't speak, and the silence was eating up at Dream's pride, his ego, his everything. A chasm felt like it was opening in his chest - _why had he asked him to stay why had he asked him to-_

Finally, achingly, George expelled Dream's anxiety: "Fine. I'll stick around."

Dream could barely comprehend how that had worked, nor could he even come close to acknowledging the fact that he so very badly had wanted it to work. He watched in frank amazement as George went back to the corner of the cave, unloading their food and weapons just like before. His muscles were still all locked up and stiff, Dream figured he better not provoke him further, as fun as it was, because he sensed that he stood on very thin ice.

Breathing in his relief eagerly, Dream slid down the wall. He'd need at least another night of recovery for his wounds before he set off to his family.

Or... "I'll keep watch tonight," he offered, his voice smaller than he wanted it to be (he felt oddly like he was in trouble.)

George didn't even look at him. His voice was cold. "You do that."

Dream's lips tightened and his gut told him to once again hold his tongue. (He only ever held himself back with George - he _despised_ this effect he had on him).

Into the unnerving silence, George said offhandedly, "I know you liked being pressed up against me, too."

•

As Dream kept watch, his mind spiralled. Thoughts of George hounded him even when he tried his hardest to focus on the crystals on the ceiling, the stillness of the water, or the cobwebs in the corners. His thoughts would wander and return, without fail, to George, how he'd pushed up against him, how he shut him up so easily with his hand on Dream's lips - he didn't think he would have been able to speak anyway, the breath had been knocked out of him. It had felt just like being winded, like he couldn't draw in enough air to think straight. Perhaps that was just because George's other hand was on his chest, pushing on his lungs, or perhaps.... well, maybe there was another reason.

Dream wrung his hands, obsessively fidgeting with his fingers - he'd been doing so ever since he got out of those dumb cuffs. His wrists were scratched raw, the skin around them all dark and blotchy. He wondered if they would scar from the deep metal cuts, but again he caught himself once again attempting to focus on anything but the man in front of him.

It just kept replaying: George's hands, featherlight on his body, so gentle and smooth and innocent. His goddamn stupid big eyes and long lashes - why did they have to look like molten honey? (Why the _hell_ was that how Dream was describing them?) And when George had been forced into him, his chest barely reaching Dream's... He held onto that feeling of warmth for longer than he'd planned, but it had been a long while since Dream had been close to _anyone_ , physically or mentally, and it drove him mad. George had _known_ , too, that he'd enjoyed the close contact - Dream should put his mask back on, he _hated_ that George could read him... yet he also kind of liked it, being called out...

He threw his face into his hands. He wanted to groan out and release the pent-up emotion in his throat, but his ribs and shoulder were aching, and George was getting well-earned rest. Dream glanced at his tranquil figure, watching his chest rise and fall. He couldn't believe he'd stayed. He couldn't believe that Dream had wanted him to.

Noiselessly, he rose to his feet. He got out the map, gently smoothing the corners, and traced the land he'd drawn with his fingers, traced his mother's frantic handwriting. His chest ached as he paced around the cavern, trying to ease his troubled mind.

•

_You could feel the King's wrath in the air. It was humid and frigid all at once, unpleasant and suffocating and swamping the entire room._

_George swallowed hard as the King beckoned him closer._

_Three cold words. A question, a command. "Where is he."_

_His mouth opened. Closed again. He couldn't speak, someone had stolen his tongue._

_The King had a whip. George had never been hit by a whip before, he knew the King generally refrained from hurting him when he had the choice. He wondered if it would hurt._

You know it hurts _, he told himself harshly, fearfully, hardly holding on to his composure. His will was breaking down, dissolving, as the man with cold, cold eyes advanced on him, malice in his face._

_"You failed me, George."_

_George closed his eyes as the whip came down on his flesh, bracing, waiting-_

•

George opened his eyes. His body was thrown upwards, flinching at the impact of a whip that wasn't there, it wasn't real, he was safe, he was safe, he was-

Dream was looking at him, but his voice came out sounding so far away. "George?" 

He screwed his eyes shut again, for the King's booming voice had not left his head. He rubbed his temples harshly, as if he could expel his own thoughts.

Suddenly, Dream was crouched in front of him, holding his hands from his face, carefully stabilising him. George hadn't even realised he was shaking.

He shoved Dream off. "It was just a nightmare."

"I'm sorry."

George snorted, mostly from surprise. "What for? D'you control my dreams?"

He shrugged. "I used to have nightmares a lot. They suck."

"You're in my nightmares," George grumbled at him, turning away. He really did _not_ want to discuss this with Dream.

"What, so I scare you?" He felt the smile in his voice, and it made George scowl.

"No, I mean because you're the worst."

"Sure, sure."

 _Ugh_. George was still making sure this was definitely real, drinking in the contents of the cave, taking in as much oxygen as he could, to disentangle the cobwebs of fear webbed in his mind. He drank from his water supply greedily, waiting for his heart to slow, waiting for his hurricane of thoughts to ease.

Abruptly, he said, "Sapnap and Bad are going to get hurt."

He didn't look over to see if Dream was paying attention, just pushed, "And it'll be my fault, if they go back to the King without me, or you. I had a chance - in fact, I had _numerous_ chances to get you-"

"Stop," Dream snapped, and the force of his voice actually made George falter and turn around to face him. "You've been over this guilt speech, and I get it, I really do. But let's say you did just bring me back, let's say the King got to torture me and satisfy his ego, and you Hunters got a fancy promotion. Then what?"

"Well-"

"No, I'll tell you what. Another bandit, thief, whatever, takes my place. You fail to catch them. They get away. You pay for it."

George shook his head, but he couldn't find the right words to argue, so Dream steamed ahead, "This says more about the King than it does about you. He's abusive and power-hungry and is using you to get what he can't be bothered to get. Why can't you see that it's _him_ in the wrong, not me?"

Dream stood right in front of him, his posture poised and tense all at once.

"You always have to feel like you're right," George shot back, feeling steadily more awake by the second. 

"Normally, I am right," he said, with far too much confidence.

"Oh yeah? You were wrong about me."

His eyes darted to the side. "No-"

"When I forced you to make a deal with me."

"Again, no-"

"When I threw your backpack off a cliff and kept the map."

"Okay-"

"When I saved your life."

Dream sputtered, "Fine, fine, but you're lying to yourself if you honestly want to go back there."

"I have to, it's my _job_. I get paid to do this, so I need to do it well." George counted his breaths, smothering the anger, then sighed. "Stop pretending to know what's best for me, or what's right. It's exhausting, and... and you have no right. We're not friends, we're not anything."

Some of the fight seemed to leave Dream's body, for he just nodded curtly, his mouth a thin line. The silence filled the room to the brim, they said nothing for a few painful heartbeats.

Then George remembered, suddenly, why they were here. "Your wounds. Are they..."

Dream had already turned away from him. His voice was low and emotionless. "I'll need at least another day."

For some reason, George felt that familiar stab of guilt. "Is there anything I can do?"

When he didn't answer, George felt himself grow smaller. 

•

Dream found it hard to sleep that night, even when George was keeping watch.

He lay on his side, staring at the wall. His shoulder ached, but it was healing. His chest hurt, but he was breathing, and counting his breaths, and thinking about what George said.

_We're not friends._

That was fine, that was expected. You couldn't be friends with someone you wanted to kill. Though Dream would be lying if he said he was still thinking about killing George, that he would be at peace with the idea of even hurting George, after everything he'd done for Dream.

_We're not anything._

He should have just let George leave.

Why had he wanted him to stay?

Dream traced his fingers along the jagged rocks on the cave wall before descending into a fitful sleep.

•

When Dream woke up, George was gone.


	14. Fanciful Indulgences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> george finds out that the king has big plans. dream doesn't care.

George was certain he wouldn't look back, though once he was out of the caves and facing the rising sun, his resistance crumbled. He didn't know why, but he expected Dream to follow him.  
  
He wouldn't though, because he had the map, and plenty of food. George even left him an iron chest plate (not that he needed it).  
  
George checked his compass. He was sure the Hunters wouldn't be far, both were mildly injured. Less injured, actually, than Dream, and the thought made George feel ill, because it was his idea to trap the Hunters, and it was his fault things didn't go to plan.  
  
If he hadn't fallen into the trap, Sapnap wouldn't have been able to unleash hell on Dream... but Dream was fine, he told himself, willing his legs to go on. Dream was fine, and so was George.  
  
After all, they didn't mean anything to each other.  
  
  
•  
  
  
The nightmare he'd had was what convinced George to leave, as ridiculous that was. It served as a stark reminder of what George was expected to do, to accomplish, otherwise the Hunters would suffer on his behalf.  
  
And because he was weak, because he couldn’t do it, he would have to lie to them all.  
  
Dream's mask was in his pack, splattered with enough dried blood that it could perhaps fool someone of his death, but the Hunters? The King?   
  
This was a terrible idea, to lie.   
  
_So turn around, idiot_ , said a voice in his head that sounded an awful lot like Dream.  
  
George ignored it.  
  
He found an abandoned campfire, and hope inflated in his chest, until he realized there was no way the Hunters would be dumb enough to leave traces of where they’d been. Or... maybe he was meant to see it.  
  
Curiosity got the better of him, and he walked over. Sure enough, they’d left a note.   
  
_Gogy — if you’re alive  
Base to heal   
Back soon _  
  
Short and sweet to avoid much deciphering from strangers. And ‘base’ meant their hidden home in the village nearby — they had one set up in every village for miles, though George wasn't sure which was the closest to them now.  
  
Either way, the Hunters weren’t far, probably, and they were seemingly okay. They weren’t giving up either, if they planned to come back. They wouldn’t be long, especially once they realized Dream had never left the caves. Especially once they realized George was still alive.   
  
Sapnap must’ve been suspicious about what knocked him out, surely. If George went back, would they believe him? And if they didn’t, if they somehow discovered what he’d done... They wouldn’t forgive him.   
  
George had a flash image of the whip in his head. Sapnap’s scars. The King's mirthless laugh.  
  
They all knew what was at stake.  
  
George peered down at his hands, his bag shaking in his grip. He was going to be a coward by lying about Dream’s death. He was going to be a coward if he didn’t go. He was a coward either way.  
  
Go back to Dream, turn on the Hunters; Go to the Hunters, turn his back on Dream.  
  
He was smart enough to realize that neither choice was going to work.   
  
He wasn’t smart enough, however, to anticipate the attack.  
  
Arrows came in a blur from seemingly all directions, catching the nicks in his armour, piercing his flesh. His sword was out in an instant, his eyes wide and his gaze scattered, looking, looking, looking—  
  
Men, crouched in ditches all around him. At least four he could count, all with weapons.   
  
Well. He was gloriously outnumbered.   
  
Still, he was a Hunter, and of the highest rank, so perhaps he could bargain or—  
  
“Who are you and why are you out here?” The voice was authoritarian and low, like a soldier's.  
  
He held up his shield, with the King’s emblem, and it had the intended effect: many of them seemed to relax, some even looked afraid.  
  
“I’m George, and I’m a Hunter. I’m here on the King’s orders.”  
  
The man who’d spoken immediately dropped his weapon. “The King sent you this far out?”  
  
There was a long silence in which George’s suspicion gave way to confusion.  
  
“I’m sorry,” another — a woman's voice, older than George, blubbered. “We didn’t know who you were. I’m so sorry, your H—“  
  
“It’s fine,” he said quickly, flushing. “Who the hell are you guys?”  
  
They revealed themselves — they’d been concealed in the ground, in the mud. They wore brown leather, to hide, with a faded emblem on their shoulders. Before they could reply, he spluttered, “Wait, you work for the _King_?”  
  
“More of a private army,” the man said in a rush.   
  
“A private army?” He repeated. He wanted to add: _that I didn’t know about?_  
  
“We’ve been stationed out here... in private.”  
  
“For what?”  
  
The four of them exchanged glances.  
  
George frowned. “So it’s a secret?”  
  
“You should talk to the King,” said one that looked to be the youngest, a man with unkempt — yet shiny — brown hair.   
  
“The King didn’t send you after me, did he?” George felt his vision go red at the corners and gripped his sword harder. “To watch over me?”  
  
“No, no.” The older of the men looked amused. His curly brown locks covered one of his eyes, so his smirk appeared rather unbalanced, unhinged. “It’s a private business. We’re following up on some intel. We weren’t expecting to find you, I assure you. We didn’t know you guys were out here.”  
  
Another thought occurred to him. “Is this to do with Dream...?” He wasn't sure what he wanted the answer to be.  
  
“That’s your department,” said the older man, smile gone. “And if I’m not mistaken, you still haven’t caught him?”  
  
 _Walked right into that one,_ George thought as his lips curled.  
  
“And what’s _your_ department?” He inquired coldly, bristling slightly.  
  
“That’s classified.”  
  
He was suddenly very decisive in that he was _not_ going to go to the Hunters, because he was convinced the King had been forced to send an entire group of new meat to check on George’s progress, he must really think so lowly of him, that he couldn’t handle this alone, that he needed help, and the mortification was overwhelming—  
  
Well. He wasn’t going to let them beat him.  
  
He was going to get Dream, all to himself, deals be damned  
  
“Fine, whatever, resume,” he said breezily. “I’m looking for the Hunters, we’ve set up camp in the caves.” He looked at the strange camouflaged Knights one by one, and narrowed his eyes. “Stay out of my way.”  
  
“Yes sir,” blurted the girl, as if she’d been waiting to speak.  
  
George walked on without another word, back to Dream, the knowledge that the King was keeping secrets heavy on his soul, and further heightening his sense of dread.

  
•

  
Dream was trying not to let the anger consume him, but it was hard not to resent George for leaving. He didn’t blame him, not at all, but... he’d expected him to stay. For whatever reason.   
  
He was gripping his shoulder with his free hand, teeth clenched together. He shouldn’t be walking, every movement or his muscles felt like it was ripping open the wound all over again. The pain helped him focus in on something other than the resentment towards George. He held the map, even though he’d already revised the directions and knew exactly where he’d be going. He just needed something to glower at, if George wasn't around.  
  
But first, the caves. He was going to have to hoist himself out, somehow.   
  
He stood at the base of the hole, squinting up at the sun. His hands were slick with sweat, his breath short and laboured. The poison had really held back his progress, and that paired with this wounds — it was going to make climbing out of here _hell_.  
  
Dream glared at the harnesses, the ropes. They were mocking him.   
  
What else was mocking him was the crushing realization that he had _wanted_ George to stay. He had held on to the comfort of sleeping, knowing George was looking out for him. Just knowing he was around, even, was like a warmth he didn’t realize he would crave once it was gone.  
  
And yet... it wasn’t a surprise he’d left Dream. Everyone did.  
  
Dream was a thief and a liar and a killer and an _idiot_ , apparently, for trusting the King’s most prized Hunter.   
  
His hands clenched into fists, nails digging into his palms. Resolutely, he’d internally decided that the next time he saw George, he’d kill him.  
  
“Dream?”  
  
He snapped around. George was gawking at him with a clashing mix of trepidation and relief in his soft brown eyes.   
  
_Well_.  
  
He tasted something sour in his mouth at the sight of him. “What are you doing here.”  
  
“I only left for a few hours.”  
  
“You were running away,” he snapped.  
  
George rolled his eyes. “Well, I’m back, gods, you’re so dramatic." He frowned at him. "And you look like a mess — you should still be resting.”  
  
Dream scowled. “Why did you come back.”  
  
“The King is keeping secrets." He rushed out a story about some private army stationed above them. "And I’m only telling you because I think they’re looking for you.”  
  
He lifted his chin, looking disdainfully through his lashes. “So? Isn’t the whole kingdom looking for me?”  
  
“This is different. I didn’t know about it, and I know about everything.”  
  
Dream suddenly understood, and forced a dry laugh out. “What, you’re upset because the King withheld information so you come running back to me?”  
  
The other man seemed to wince, just slightly. _Guilty conscious_. The words were on the tip of Dream's tongue, yet he wasn't in the mood to tease.  
  
“Dream, listen. There’s a secret army, and they’re looking for you.”  
  
“I still don’t get why this is news to you,” he muttered, turning back to the harnesses. He was mentally preparing himself to start climbing. Or… maybe he was just stalling.  
  
George grabbed his good shoulder, and the contact made Dream startle. He wanted to tell him to get off, but his throat was dry and his tongue useless.  
  
“Stop being a baby for three seconds and _listen_.” George took his inability to speak as an indication to go on, and continued, “I know everything that happens under the King, he doesn’t keep secrets from me, and if he does, I find out. He’s sent troops out, he’s looking for something that he doesn’t want me, or the Hunters, to know about. Do you understand?”  
  
“Uhhh…”  
  
“What if the King doesn’t just want you because you’re a pain in the ass?” - Dream had the sense to glare at him - “What if there’s something bigger, and that’s why he’s kept you alive so long?”  
  
“ _Kept_ me alive?” The rage helped him focus. “I survived all on my own, thank you very much.”  
  
“Yeah, but the Bounty only exists if you live. He needs you, for whatever reason.”  
  
The two men looked at one another. Dream glanced at the hand on his shoulder. “So... you _do_ need me. That’s why you came back. You’re not letting me go after all.”  
  
“I came back because I don’t want them to get their hands on you,” he said, strain in his voice. He was frustrated and antsy, nothing like how calm and collected he’d been before.  
  
“What, so you can hog the glory all to yourself?”  
  
“No, Dream," he sighed loudly, impatiently. "I don’t _want_ you to get caught, okay? Why do you think I came back? I was worried. Because now I’m not the only one looking for you.”  
  
 _Worried_ about him? Interesting.

Scathingly, he answered, “I thought I didn’t mean anything to you.”

Something on his face changed. He let go of his shoulder, his expression impossibly unreadable — since when did he have such a poker face?

“ _That’s_ what’s been bothering you?” His tone was incredulous, but not mocking, and Dream felt some of the tension leave his muscles.

Consciously, Dream wanted to shy behind his mask, which he didn’t have. “No. Well. Um... I don’t know, you saved my life.”

“Twice.”

“I don’t think you hate me. I think I’m right about what I said. And you...” Humiliatingly, he felt his cheeks heat up, and he grated out, “well, you said that shit about being pressed up against me...”

Now George had gone pink. He rushed out his words in one breath: “I-was- _kidding_.”

Dream swallowed hard. “See, I just don’t believe you.”

“Of course you don’t,” George said softly, with no bite behind his words. Instead, he looked like he was waiting for something, like he was holding himself back from saying -- or doing -- something else.

There wasn’t enough oxygen in the room, all of a sudden. Dream felt the ache of the past few days leave his body, he felt all the blood rushing straight to his head, making him feel hot and careless and out of control.

He wanted to hold on to his anger at George for leaving, and for only returning to panic about the stupid King’s new Army or whatever, he wanted to hate him—

He _did_ hate him.

He hated his wide brown eyes and soft dark hair, how the strands fell into his eyes, how he peered shyly up at him through his long lashes with a combination of determination and apprehension. He hated that they were still staring at one another, like neither of them could really handle looking away.

Dream’s lips curled. George sneered back at him.

Worst of all, he hated how he didn’t _really_ hate George, for he’d let him live this long…and he’d wanted him to come back…and now he was staring at his lips...

With one step, George closed the distance between them, his jaw set, and Dream's heart jumped erratically. “I’m sorry I tried to run away. I said I’d help you, and I will. But enough of… of this.”

His lips parted slightly as he breathed out, “What?”

“The teasing, the… the way you’re looking at me. Just—“

“I’m not _asking_ you to get all flustered!” Dream defended, some of that suppressed rage seeping into his voice as he raised his hands.

George ran his hands over his eyes, groaning a soft ‘oh my gods’ to himself, hiding his face behind his pale hands. “Can we just get going,” he mumbled, dragging himself away from Dream, into the caves again.

Dream licked his lips, still recovering, indignant that he was running away, again. “Wait, why aren’t we going up?”

“Your wounds are getting worse. You’re weak, you should rest."

It was like being doused in ice-cold water. All the softness left his tone, going harsh and bitter and tasteless. “What? _Weak,_ seriously?”

When George just walked on, probably smug that he’d ruined whatever had been starting to brew between them, Dream felt the anger creep up on him, comforting in its familiarity, clearing the muddle of his mind. He stormed after George, who was already navigating his way to the last cave they’d stayed in.

"You're running away from me, George. And I don't just mean for a bounty, or because you can't pick a side."

"What am I running from, then?" he was humouring him, still so complacent.

"From the feeling you get around me. The way I make you feel." When George's steps wavered, he felt a smirk grow on his lips. "And you _hate_ it."

George didn't take the bait, he didn't even turn. Just pushed on with a dismissive and aggravating, "No, I just hate _you_."

Time and time again, Dream had been criticised for his impatience and his unwillingness to wait, or to think -- his impulsiveness left him in situations that didn't exactly always play out in his favour. But once the impulse started, there was no control, and certainly no thinking.

Thought processes just ceased to function, his brain ceasing to function and yet going haywire all at once as he seized George's shoulders and slammed him forcibly into the wall of their cave, by that stupid crystal-blue pool, not far from where they were squeezed together in that tight gap.

George gasped out as the breath was knocked from him, and Dream had already decided that George was going to remain breathless -- he liked him better that way -- because he was spiralling further and further into his compulsion, finally giving in to his demand to kiss the Hunter with as much fury as he could hold on to without losing all sense completely, his fingers tightening on the shoulder pads of his stupid armour, and he was drowning now, he was going to get lost in this sea of lust and anger and frustration--

And George was kissing him back, like he knew, somehow, that this was what Dream needed to keep his mind from short-circuiting, like he wanted to satisfy his every indulgence ten times over. And his lips were so damned soft, but he tasted like fire, so much so that it was intoxicating, he couldn't get enough of it, of _him_.

They broke apart just as Dream felt himself starting to overheat with the incredible _want_ , something he hadn't felt for a long time, a craving that was begging to be satisfied. It didn't help that George's dark eyes were diluted and lazy, his full lips just barely parted and incredibly inviting... the way he was looking at Dream was making it harder for him to restrain himself at all, and then he spoke:

"Just because we-- This doesn't mean I don't still hate you," he said hotly, face all scrunched up and pink, glazed with a hunger that made Dream's stomach drop.

"I- Yeah," he stuttered, "if anything, this makes me hate you more."

"Good," George rasped, before looping his hands around Dream's neck and leaving _him_ breathless, as George was on basically _on top_ of him, and he had time to think about how much of a disastrous idea this was before becoming so distracted by the taste of him that he simply stopped thinking altogether.


	15. Cool-down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> dream and george trek through the desert, and find a spot to rest.

Somewhere in the back of George's hazy mind, he recognised the idiocy of his actions.

Kissing the man he wanted to kill, the man he hated, the man who'd made his life miserable for three years. Feeding Dream's ego, probably, with how much he actually _wanted_ to kiss him (he didn't say it, but actions spoke _much_ louder than words, with them).

George was running out of air, of breath, with his lips against Dream's. He wanted to burn right through the feeling, and let it overcome him... but the logical George, the one who knew he was a Hunter that loyally served his King, was chiding him. And _that_ George was too instilled for him to ignore that this was the dumbest thing he'd ever done in his life, even dumber than that time that he let Sapnap kiss him when they were drunk (it was painstakingly awkward).

The heat in his body -- between _them_ \-- was blindsiding. It was too much to ignore, too much to run away from, too much to handle.

He _wanted_ this. For a long time, he'd wanted this, and it terrified him.

Giving in to the panic, he shoved Dream hard in the chest so that he let go of him, startled. 

"This isn't going to help you heal," George said with as much authority as he could muster, yet his voice was weak and small. Lacking oxygen.

"It was helping in its own way," Dream mumbled, his eyes lowered.

He knew what he meant: it was a very impressive distraction. One that George had half a mind to be distracted by again.

Reluctant, he said, "No, you need to sleep."

"Sleep?" he scoffed, "after _that_?"

_Good point._

He stuttered, "I don't know." 

Dream looked irritated. Not his usual cold fury, or his unhinged anger, but just... simply irritated. Impatient. 

His hair was all disordered, somehow messier than usual, golden-brown curls stuck in every direction. George's fingers ached to run through them again.

Dream seemed to read this, as a smirk pulled at his sly lips: "What are you thinking about?"

 _Gods above_. "I'm thinking about shutting you up."

"And how are you going to achieve that?" His voice was so low, it sent chills across George's skin. It was so _fucking annoying_ , this effect he had on him.

"I'll show you," he said through his teeth. He figured that letting out his anger this way was more productive than holding a sword to his throat, and twice as effective. 

He grabbed Dream's shirt (mindful of his bandages) and hauled him forward, seizing his lips again, ignoring the voices in his head that warned that this was going too far, he was going to ruin his entire reputation, his career, his everything. 

_So what?_ he dared to ask himself, as Dream let out the smallest of groans. George felt himself smile through the kiss, grip tightening on Dream's shirt. _This is much more fun._

•

The night passed in a blur of tongue and teeth and lips and made the cold dampness of the cave seem impossibly warm, as though their bodies were so flushed with desire that it consumed the entire room.

When George woke with bleary eyes, lying on Dream's hard chest, the warmth was long gone, save for the lingering heat in his core, his heart still racing.

He sat up slowly, deliberately, trying to ease his breathing.

Dream looked all peaceful and calm again, and something about it made George's chest ache. 

George stood up to go wash himself in the pool, refastening his armour. Somewhere between putting on his shin pads and shoulder pads, Dream stirred awake, rubbing at his eyes. 

When George was done with his armour, he held his breath as he turned to Dream, waiting at the mouth of the cave. 

He didn't ask if Dream was feeling better, and Dream didn't say, just gave the smallest of noncommittal nods, and the two of them were off. As they clambered up, George kept his focus on Dream's shoulder, his upper body, to make sure he wasn't stubbornly pretending to be okay with his injuries. But Dream barely winced, he barely hesitated. His face was firm and set, the picture of cold determination.

Neither of them spoke. 

•

The silence was suffocating. 

Dream hated holding his tongue, but he really had nothing to say to the Hunter, too occupied with memories of the night prior, of George's hands on his chest, his arms, his neck. 

And... lower. 

He didn't want to acknowledge it, yet simultaneously wanted to blurt out all that was building in his chest, the confusion, the hurricane of questions—

Questions he had. Questions he was scared of George answering. 

So he continued this charade, this faux normalcy of travelling in mutual silence. 

Most of the time, he just walked on, obsessively unfolding and refolding his worn map, trying his hardest not to speak. 

George spent most of the time looking around and behind them. He was paranoid. He was also avoiding Dream.

Dream wondered a lot if George would run away again.

He wondered if he'd try to stop him if he did.

•

The sun was high above them and softly warm, pleasant and yellow, when Dream finally spoke. "This is ridiculous."

George let out a breath he didn't even know he'd been holding. "Dream..."

"No, we don't have to say anything about that." He sounded impatient, and also as though he'd been rehearsing this, in his head. His words were clear, careful. "I want to just speak, please. It's too quiet."

"I figured you liked the sound of your own voice. No wonder you're cranky." The response - the teasing - was automatic, robotic. He hadn't even meant to say it.

Dream's eyebrows shot to his hairline. "Uh. Yeah."

"Talk, then."

"I want to know what your nightmare was about."

George tripped. Dream didn't wait, perhaps he'd been expecting him to stumble, so George just awkwardly caught up, clearing his throat loudly. "I'm not answering that."

Dream tilted his head. "Why."

He couldn't look at him. "It's personal."

"Weren't we personal enough last night?"

At the leer in his voice, George found himself straightening, bracing. "We are _not_ talking about last night."

He looked over, and of _course_ , Dream's face was illuminated with smugness.

"Seriously," George pressed, edging on desperation, "don't bring it up."

"I only asked a question."

Huffing out a breath, George picked up his pace, glaring down at the tufts of grass and scattered pebbles beneath them — they crunched beneath their boots, filling the quietness. The greenery was starting to give way to more barren land, towards a desert biome. George hated the heat.

Dream was in close steps behind him, waiting, probably. 

George sighed, "I had a nightmare about the King. Trying... to hurt me."

"Does he?" George held his breath. Dream clarified, "Does he hurt you? Has he ever..."

The lie came easily. "No." 

In fact, it was a half-lie: the King hadn't hurt him for a long time, not since he'd become a Hunter. No, that was when his anger directed to Sapnap, and sometimes even Bad. 

And George let them take the brunt of it. He _let_ them. 

They were probably being hurt right now...

He could feel Dream's gaze on him. "Are you afraid of the King."

"Yes." He thought it better to tell the truth, about that. His voice, though, was impossibly small, and hushed. Weak.

He _was_ weak. Tired, too. He didn't want to go back. He didn't want to go anywhere. 

"I'm not afraid," Dream replied, but with none of the superiority that George had been expecting. Instead, he just sounded delicate and placating. "I'm not, because I think he can be overthrown. I think he will." At the look on his face, Dream rolled his eyes. "Not overthrown by me, before you extend my list of _heinous_ crimes, but...", he gave a shrug, "I just think someone will stop him."

George raised an eyebrow. "Y'know just saying that is treason, right? Especially in my presence."

"Yeah? What are you gonna do about it?" He made the question sound light and off-handed, but there was an undertone of mischief that made George's face warm. 

Fumbling a little with his bag, George was in the process of thinking of a witty response, when Dream once again proved that he was insistent on filling the silence: "Treason or not, there's nothing you can do. Maybe you could threaten me, maybe you could pretend to hate me, but last night may serve to contradict that—"

"Shut up," George said, shoving him. "Seriously."

Dream was grinning. "Why, George?"

"Because I hate you."

When Dream just lifted his eyebrows in satisfaction, still bearing that knowing smile, George shoved him again, frustration clawing his way up his throat. "No, I'm not kidding or being funny. I _do_ hate you, and we both know last night was a mistake." He waited, watching Dream's reaction, who gave away nothing other than the smallest of twitches in his jaw — it was small, barely noticeable, but it was indication enough that this irked him. _Good_.

George pressed, "I'm stuck with you out of obligation, out of pity, procrastination, whatever you want to chalk it down to, and I just... I gave in to it, okay? But at the end of the day, at the end of all this, I am going home." 

He didn't add: _And I will never see you again_.

"Why?" The word burst out of his lips angrily, like he could barely hold himself back. "Why don't you just leave? Hell, take the Hunters with you."

"I'm tied to the Kingdom by more than just contract."

"What is it then? Pride? Ego? Are you _that_ stubborn that you can't—"

His patience broke. "My family, Dream. Okay? That's something you understand. Will that get it through your thick skull?" 

Sure enough, this had made Dream lose his vigour. Rather, he just looked confused. George remembered what he'd told him when he was asked if he had a family - _not one that I particularly care for._

He explained, "My father made a... deal with the King. For my... for my job as Hunter, I had to make sacrifices. And so did he."

Loyalty to his father seemed more important now than ever, despite how much he hated him. Every small betrayal - tricking the Hunters, siding with Dream - it all chipped away at the person George prided himself to be: loyal, sturdy, reliable. _Good_. He had thought himself to be a good person and conceived Dream to be the enemy. Only now, it was George who was fluctuating and indecisive, torn between his pity and need to want to help Dream find his family, and the one and only obligation he had in life: to serve the King.

Dream made him reconsider, though. All of this, being with him, helping him, it made him doubt everything he'd known, tilting his world off its axis -- George couldn't stand the instability. 

Dream said slowly, "So you're stuck."

Yes - _stuck_ made sense. George didn't know who he was supposed to be anymore. He didn't have the strength to admit this, though: his throat was too tight, blocked with everything he was scared to say.

"What about your... mother?"

"She is long dead," George said quietly.

So yes, he was stuck. All he had was his father and the Hunters. That was his life, his home. It was supposed to be.

Yet here he was, walking away from them.

They walked on in silence. The dirt gave way to sand.

Dream stopped bothering him, he didn't even hum along, like he used to, when they were trapped in that ravine. 

George found himself hating the silence.

•

For hours they trekked, further into the desert, with George’s legs weakening with every step. His training felt insignificant against the vast plains of the desert, against the powerful rays of the sun, the heat. He couldn’t imagine how Dream must be feeling, having his wounds still so fresh, still recovering from the poison. If he was struggling, he didn’t show it. 

Pride, George thought. Or stubbornness. Perhaps both.

Ahead, the horizon was glimmering, warped. George wondered if an oasis was going to appear — a mirage — and trick them. The thought made his throat go dry.

He took a swig of his water, contemplating just allowing himself to succumb to the heat and melt into the sand, when Dream veered off course. 

George opened his mouth to ask but quickly thought better of it. One, he hadn’t spoken to Dream in three hours, give or take; two, it would probably hurt to speak.

Past Dream’s shoulder, he noticed a small sand structure in the distance, barely speck on the horizon. He’d never seen anything like this, but his father had spoken of what lay in the deserts beyond the Kingdom, like the temples and villages and— oh. _Wells_.

Dream had found a well. 

His steps felt lighter as he caught up to Dream, and they wordlessly strode towards the well. The structure descended deep underground, with pristine water filled to the brim. They filled their bottles and seemed to jointly agree that they would stay, for they both sat, either side of the square structure, feet dangling above the gloriously clean water beneath them, the sandstone roof protecting them from the relentless throb of heat.

Dream was fidgeting with the map — he always did that. As in, he was always tinkering with things. His limbs bouncing, his fingers twitching. George realized that it would be worrying to see this man go still and motionless: he was like a bundle of motion, of energy, constantly restless.

He wondered when his fear of him being dangerous had crept into a quiet admiration. He wondered why he no longer feared him, not really.

Maybe it was because his lips were so soft.

“I’m sorry.” Dream’s voice pierced the silence. 

George glanced up. They sat on opposite sides of the well, about a meter between them, their dangling shoes could’ve been touching, but George’s feet were pressed hard into the side of the wall, for stability.

“You’re stuck because of me. And you’re right, I probably have been making your life hell.”

This was all stuff George had expressed before, in a blind fury; it was something that had stuck with Dream.

“It doesn’t make it better to steal and kill and fuck around just because I have a good reason to. Sure, my family’s my life, but...” he craned his neck, eyes skyward, “I did more than necessary, with the stealing and... I enjoyed the law-breaking and pissing people off. Especially the King.” 

It felt like something trivial, something George would normally laugh at, but his lips were tightly sealed.

Dream chuckled to himself, instead. “I loved the attention you and your Hunters gave me, I loved that you had me caught, that you thought you had the upper hand.”

He couldn’t refrain from saying, “I _did_ have the upper hand. I still do.”

The thief looked like he was holding in a laugh. “ _Really_? I could so easily push you into this well.”

“I’d bring you down with me,” he replied matter-of-factly. 

Dream was smirking now. “I wouldn’t think you’d want to be that close to me again.”

George met his eyes. He’d cooled down under the well, away from the sun, but looking at Dream again made something within him flare-up once more.

He dug his heels into the wall beneath him and crooned, “Want to find out?”

The look on Dream’s face was priceless — he hadn’t been anticipating George’s playing-along, and it left him dumbstruck, his brows lifted and freckled cheeks going as pink as foxgloves. 

Amused at how easy it was to make him flustered, George said, “It doesn’t seem like you have the upper hand. Not around me.”

He recovered and glowered at him. “Well, I’m not currently plotting against you, and you’re not currently trying to kill me. I’d call that even.”

“No,” he argued, “I’m winning two-one, remember? For saving your life."

Dream groaned and whined a long and frustrated, “ _Whaaaaat_? That’s not fair. I could’ve killed you _so_ many times.”

“And I could’ve left you to die in the caves.”

“You came back, though.”

“Yeah.”

“And then...”

George looked up. Green eyes, flecked with gold, caught his own. His pulse jumped, he knew what was coming.

“And then,” he echoed, waiting, bracing. 

Dream leaned forward, over the well, a lazy idleness on his face, eyes slanted like a cat’s. “Then we kissed, and you told me you hated me.”

It was a challenge. He presumed George to back down — the mere thought of it made George more inclined to do the exact opposite.

He found himself leaning forward, too, as if drawn to a magnet. Their lips were just inches from one another. 

“Did you like it,” he said softly, eyes on Dream’s lips, “when I said I hated you?”

He cleared his throat. “Well, if you’re being honest, I don’t mind. But I think we both know that’s not _all_ you feel.”

A muscle in his jaw twitched. He clenched his fists against the ledge beneath him. He wanted to reach out to him, grab him. Make him shut up. But wouldn’t that only prove him right?

“I can hate you and want to kiss you,” he said quietly. “The difference between us is...” he stretched out a hand, let his fingers barely graze Dream's chin.

He watched as Dream’s pupils dilated, watched how his breath caught ever so slightly, watched how he leaned forward instinctively, a pirate lured to a siren, like every impulse was telling him to go towards George. 

George stroked his cheek, light as a feather. Dream’s hungry gaze never left George’s lips.

He waited until their lips were almost touching, until Dream's eagerness gave way, until it was clear that he thought he was getting _precisely_ what he wanted-- 

\--before George smiled and whispered against his mouth, “The difference is, I’m more patient than you are.”

He then pulled away, smiling coyly.

Blush tainted Dream’s cheeks, still inclined forward and still with those animalistic glazed eyes.

He’d been denied something he wanted, and _George_ was what he wanted. The thought of this -- of the power George held -- sent a thrill through him, brought a foolish smirk to his lips.

Dream exhaled, the sound ragged, and reclined back against the well. “That was so unfair.”

“Not my fault you’re impatient.” George rolled his neck, looking across at Dream in barely-contained satisfaction. It felt like his mouth was stuck in a permanent smile. “Seems more like a personal flaw of yours.”

His hands were over his face. "I hate you."

Laughing, he said, "I know."

•

The well was surprisingly perfect for sleeping. The square structure had just enough space between its pillars to harbour a man, though it was a little tight. Dream didn't mind, though (he was used to uncomfortable places).

He lay in between the walls of the well, eyes on the stars scattered above. He was always astounded with the sheer amount of stars -- it was like they were trying to devour every inch of sky. It made him feel small, but it was also a strange comfort.

George snored softly on the other side of the well.

He'd told Dream stubbornly that it was _his_ turn to keep watch, and that he'd do so even when Dream offered to stay up, but had fallen asleep just minutes later. 

It didn't matter -- Dream didn't think he'd be physically able to relax, with all that was replaying in his mind.

The fact that George had purposefully denied him was driving him _insane_. It made him want to push George right up against one of the walls and watch him struggle to deny that he wanted this, that he wanted it as much as Dream did, if not more.

Well... maybe not _more_.

He couldn't keep up with it. One minute, George was shoving him away and denying his feelings; the next he was all confidence, borderline arrogant, and making Dream forget how to form coherent words, how to compose himself. 

Dream _loved_ to provoke him, but the way George was acting was making him feel less and less sure-footed about what he was doing.

George shifted in his slumber, mumbling to himself, and Dream's eyes flickered over to him. It was almost instinctive, to watch over him now. Instead of doing so out of obligation, he felt oddly territorial -- he didn't want George to leave, once he found his family. In fact, his mind seemed prone to getting ahead of itself, and he caught himself imagining George meeting his sister, his mother.

His mother would be sceptical about his rank, his job, but his sister would love him. She'd probably say that George was _much_ nicer than Dream, to annoy him, but she'd be right. Despite everything he stood for, George was... a soft individual. There was something so gentle about his soul, so at odds with his 'Hunter' persona. 

His skin was soft too, and his lips.

He thought about kissing those taunting lips until his eyes felt heavy, and he slipped into darkness, blissfully calm, safe in knowing that George was just feet from him.

•

" _Dream_!"

His eyes opened in an instant at the urgency of George's shrill and panicked voice.

His heart sunk as his drowsy eyes fought to absorb the scene ahead of him: a man had George pinned, with a knife at his exposed throat.

Terror hit him like a punch in the gut. The fear in George's eyes were staggering.

The stranger looked to Dream, smiled. Except - no, it wasn't a stranger. 

He knew this man -- Drax -- they'd worked together to loot the King's land before. Multiple times. They had bonded over their hatred for the Kingdom, for the King -- and the Hunters. _Especially_ the Hunters.

"Long time no see, Dream," he said with a shark's grin. "Look who I caught."


	16. An Old Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> an old friend of dream's crosses paths with the two men and... it doesn't go well.

Dream had been a lot of shitty situations — countless, really. He was always getting himself into trouble, and he was almost accustomed to being threatened. He was almost remiss about it, knowing he’d probably be able to pull a last-minute escapade to spare his own life.

But this — _this_. This was different.

George was the one who was in trouble, and the threat wasn’t something he could easily dispose of. Drax, broad-shouldered and dark-haired, was a friend, or at least resembled the loosest definition of the word. He wasn’t necessarily a good person, (though neither was Dream, he reminded himself hastily), but Drax was his ally, if anything. 

They’d always had each other’s backs because they had little else. 

Now, though, he was threatening something Dream cared about — for once, he had care toward something other than the map. He didn't know when his amusement with George had changed to genuine care, but... it was too late to consider how messy that was, let alone the unspoken feeling between them...the way they looked at each other...

Drax believed that Dream still hated George, he believed them to be on the same side.

George’s wide eyes were on Dream. “What the hell is this?”

There was a note of accusation in his voice that Dream chose not to dissect too much.

“This is Drax,” he said, still rather stunned, still processing through the scrambled mess of his mind. He wasn’t sure how to play his cards, not yet.

Drax lost some of his giddiness, glancing between the men with a raised brow. 

“You haven’t heard of me, Hunter?” He sounded mock-insulted. "Drax and Dream, the thieves you can't catch?"

He nudged the knife closer, and George’s face became scrunched with fury. “No, I don’t lower myself to your level.”

“Are you hearing this?” Scoffed Drax. He nodded to Dream. “Honestly, you should be thanking me. I found this goon staring at you while you were asleep, like he was gonna push you in the well, or some shit.” 

He started laughing, loud and harsh, his mouth wide, lines pulling at the corners of his mouth. There was something unhinged about him, something Dream felt suddenly very wary of. “It’s not like you to sleep unprotected.”

He forced a laugh in reply. “I was tired. This one’s been on my tail for weeks. Guess I let him catch up.”

“Guess you did,” Drax leered at George, who looked willing to spit at him. 

“Why are you so far out here?” Dream asked, feigning interest. Maybe he could stall him long enough to spare George.

“You know me, I’m just roaming. Talk of some hidden treasuries out here, outposts in the desert and whatnot.”

Briefly, he recalled all that he and Drax had done together, before. They would raid the King’s bases using Dream as a distraction, and Drax would sneak in to disable anyone inside. Dream never asked if he’d killed them or just knocked them unconscious, mostly because he hadn’t really wanted to know. They didn’t ask each other questions.

Dream liked the chase, the excitement. Drax was more concerned with the treasure — the reward of it. Sometimes that meant killing, too, as a form of reward.

Now, Drax was eyeing George like a jewel that he wished to display on a mantel.

The other thief drawled, “Of course, I shouldn’t be saying that in front of the precious Hunter now, should I?” 

Dream wanted to say that he was harmless but held himself back. That would be too obvious.

He imagined what he’d say if it was Sapnap or Bad in George’s position, and decided on, “He’s not going to make it back to the King, not after we’re done with him.”

His gaze darted to George, a silent question. _Please play along_ , he was trying to say.

George’s eyes just narrowed, his brows sharp and lips curled. He looked furious, he looked like he despised Dream, which meant that this was working, and that was good, even if it sort of tugged at his heartstrings a little.

Drax laughed appreciatively. “Always so headstrong, these Hunters. Arrogant, too. When will they realize—“ he pushed the knife further so that it drew blood. Just a trickle, nothing serious, but Dream’s heart thundered against his rib cage all the same “—that they hunt us in vain? I’d sooner die than let the King get me.”

He sounded so sure of himself, and the arrogance leaked from every word. Dream wondered if he sounded that annoying.

George spoke, startling them both: “Die, then.”

“Watch your tongue,” Drax replied smoothly. “Or I’ll cut it off.”

“You don’t have the guts. You’re all talk.” He turned to sneer at Dream. “ _Both_ of you.”

Dream wanted to groan out loud — now was _not_ the time for George to be a stubborn ass.

George wasn’t done. “I’m not afraid of lowlifes like you, I never have been. At least I stand for something, at least I have something. What the fuck do you have? All you do is run away, with nowhere to go.”

Blinking, Dream glanced between them, still sharpened with anxiety, eyes still trained on that knife at George’s throat. 

_What the fuck do you have?_

“At least we don’t serve anyone,” Drax scoffed obnoxiously, “like you, Hunter. The King’s prized pet.”

Dream saw the rage on George’s face, apprehended that he was about to do or say something stupid, and stepped forward, his boot crunching on the soft sand. “Okay, okay. Let’s just tie him up, Drax, and get out of here.”

Drax side-eyed him. “I dunno, Dream. Won’t killing him be more fun? I mean, his friends won’t be far behind, let’s leave them a fresh corpse.”

His throat went dry. “Surely it’s better to let him starve in the heat.”

“Gods, Dream, I forgot you were shy of killing," the words were accompanied with a roll of his eyes, "it’s okay, I’ll do the dirty work, just cover me.” His words were so casual, a mere dismissal.

Resolutely he asserted, “Don’t.”

“Why not.” A hint of suspicion in his tone, at the way Dream’s gaze flew to George for a heartbeat.

“You can’t kill him. It will only aggravate the other Hunters.”

“Since when did you care?”

“I don’t,” he said, too quickly.

Drax sniffed. “You haven’t gone soft, have you?”

An image flashed in his mind, of George’s lips. His eyes. His cheeks, caressed by his own rough knuckles. 

_Soft._

He cleared his throat. He should _not_ be thinking about that.

“I just don’t think that killing him is... necessary.”

The other bandit was frowning. “What, you need him or somethin’?”

_Sort of._

“Uh...” he wracked his brain, desperately. 

When doubt started creeping into Drax’s stone-like features, Dream felt himself grasping at straws. His mind was calculating faster than his tongue, so he worked on piecing the words together before explaining, “This one’s been sent after me for years, and I’ve grown fond of his chasing, even though it's in vain.” He threw his most disdainful look at George, who reddened in embarrassment, anger, he wasn’t sure. He went on, “Killing him here ruins the fun for me.”

Dissuaded, the other man waved a hand. “There’s two hunters probably behind to mess with. Right now, I’m in the mood to screw up a pretty face.”

Dream’s stomach churned, his blood chilling.

The old Dream would have said something like, _Make it quick, then_.

Instead, his mind working, he answered, "No, a few scratches won't do anything. If we're killing him, it has to be me."

An unnerving smile. It felt like Drax had been waiting for this, the giving in. "That's more like it."

George chose the moment of distraction to spit at Drax. 

Drax kicked him in the chest, pinning him down to the ground with terrifying accuracy. Dream felt sick at the familiarity of the action. He’d done that move countless times, to render enemies helpless.

Now George was helpless.

His fingers twitched. He wanted to intervene.

_Not yet._

The dark-haired man sneered down at George. “You’re useless, even with the other two Hunters. Dream and I have been running for years, and what? Did you ever come close? Do you realise how big of a joke your life is?”

George’s face was white, now. Dream wanted to step in, but he couldn’t will his legs forward.

“I bet the King won’t even notice your absence,” he laughed, the sound gruff and unhinged. “This will just be one more failure for him."

George thrashed under Drax, snarling. 

"I think _I_ want the satisfaction of this," breathed Drax, making Dream's stomach drop.

Drax lifted the blade, high over George, both hands on the hilt with sheer determination in his icy blue eyes.

He was going to aim for the throat, puncture an artery.

Dream wondered if he always killed this way — he likely had, what with that precise angling. He knew what he was doing.

That was not how Dream killed. He went hard and quick and fast, through the heart or in the guts. He hated how easy it was, sometimes. He hated how easy it _would_ be, to end George’s life — he saw it now, that fragility. 

He also saw the fear in George’s eyes.

It hurt, to think that George knew he was about to die.

•

George was going to die. 

He almost wanted to squeeze his eyes shut as this man — Dream’s friend, whatever, whoever— struck downward, yet he couldn’t. He couldn’t bear to hide from this, the sudden rush of truth that he may not be able to survive this. 

George was bracing himself for the stab of pain, of the fleeting agony, and then what would come after…

He wasn’t afraid of peace. But he _was_ afraid of dying here, now, with the man he cared about watching, a stoic and useless onlooker—

Wait. No. Dream was moving.

As the blade came down, Drax’s arms were a blur, a thunderbolt of movement, but Dream was impossibly faster. 

He threw out the sword George had left by the well, the loud metal _CLANG_ ringing in George’s ears, who lay stunned on the ground with the knowledge that Dream had just intercepted his own friend, who was about to stab him. The blade had flown off to the side. He’d saved him. _Holy mother of—_

Dream wasn’t done.

He didn’t stop at the shock on Drax’s face. Nor did he stop as his sword struck again, aiming for Drax's torso, though Drax was fast, as fast as him, and blocked it with a shield he'd been holding loosely.

"What the hell?" he burst out, drawing away from Dream, out of his range. 

George felt inclined to ask the same thing. Just seconds ago, he was envisioning his pathetic death. Had almost accepted it.

The unbridled anger on Drax's face made it explicit that he intended to kill. It meant they should probably yield, or run, or deal with this peacefully -- Dream would do no such thing. He stood in front of George, who scrambled to his feet, his movements jerky and messy from the adrenaline pumping through his body, heart hammering against his ribs.

"I can't let you kill him," Dream said flatly.

Understanding dawned on Drax's face. Then, disgust. "You've really resorted to supporting the King?"

George didn't see the harm in playing along with that, but Dream's pride answered for him: "Never."

"Then why defend a Hunter? He's practically the heir to the throne, if not one of the other Hunters."

Stiffening, George lowered his eyes. _Him_ , as King. It was... it was a possibility... one that he didn't wish to consider.

"Just leave it, Drax." Dream raised the sword in his grip, the metal glinting. "You're unarmed. Just let us go. No one has to get hurt."

That was a lie, and the fire in Drax's eyes told George that he felt the same. 

"I can't let you leave," he said darkly. "I _won't_."

The man took a small step back as if to retreat, but too late George realised he was waiting for the opening, to launch himself to the side, and retrieve his dagger. 

Instantly, Dream threw himself forward, lashing out with the sword.

George could see the way he held himself back. Maybe it was the injury, maybe it was because he couldn't bear to hurt his old friend, but either way -- it cost him.

Drax was surprisingly nimble, given his bulky figure, and could lash out every time a sweep of Dream's blade missed, but even he seemed to be mostly catching the air rather than flesh. 

George felt a surge, a need to do something, _anything_.

He took a tentative step forward, watching the blur of silver and grey, eyes darting for blood, looking to see if Dream needed help--

"George, get _back_ ", Dream yelled, voice hoarse, freezing George in his tracks. 

Oh. This is what Drax had wanted, for George to be alone, vulnerable. 

He'd made a mistake.

Too late, George had nowhere to go as Drax's knife pelleted towards him, could only raise his arms instinctively as terror gripped his heart, the familiar rush of dread engrossing him--

Fire blazed across his forearm as the blade grazed him, piercing deep but not all the way through, thank fuck, he was okay, even if it hurt, a _lot_. He held the cut immediately, pale hands going scarlet and slick as he tried to hold all the blood in, lifting his wild eyes to see Dream. Dream, who was no longer holding back.

Dream was relentless, swipe after swipe, and didn't stop when Drax's shield cracked in two, the sound like thunder.

His sword met the gap between Drax's armour, clean through the flesh on his stomach.

He did not miss.

He didn’t stop when Drax’s surprise melted to hurt, nor as the light guttered from his eyes. 

He tugged the sword free and pulled back as soon as Drax’s blood stained the sand.

Drax slumped to the ground and did not move again.

Dream didn’t turn from where he stood, over the scarlet pool of blood that encompassed Drax’s unmoving body. His chest rise and fell erratically, uneven.

George said his name, voice thick with emotion. His head was swimming, his breath heaving. Blood was seeping through his fingers, splattering on his boots. He felt like he’d run to the Kingdom and back. 

Dream didn’t respond. Just seemed to deflate, on the spot, his rigid stance going limp. He was looking at the blood on his sword.

“Dream,” he tried again.

The desert was too silent.

Eventually, he turned, eyes round. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," he insisted, which Dream ignored, crossing the distance between them, and dropping his sword to the ground in favour of gathering their bandages.

He reached for George and wiped the blood away; George was watching it fall and melt into the sand, his own hands shaky. 

When Dream got to the bandages, he hesitated before doing anything. Then, quietly, "I couldn't let him..."

George waited, hating the way that Dream avoiding looking at him, hating the silence between them.

Hating the pain in his voice as he said, "I couldn't let him kill you."

He started wrapping George's arm up tightly as if to distract himself from his words, the weight behind them.

George stared at his fingers, stained red.

A whisper of death. Had been so close to it, when Drax lifted that knife.

He'd almost _wanted_ it... when Drax had spat all those things at him. Things that struck too precisely for George to admit. Things that stuck with him, weighing on his chest. 

He shook them off, for now. He had to... he had to say something. 

"I thought it was a setup, for a minute there I thought you were going to let me die."

That snagged Dream's attention, and he didn't look happy about it.

George hedged, "But you saved my life."

"I had to do it. Kill him, I mean." He finished the bandages and finally met his eyes. George held his breath. "If I didn't, he would have known. He would have... I don't know, followed. And I couldn't risk him... finding..."

He understood. "You thought he might be a threat to you finding your family."

Nodding, something like relief sparked in Dream's emerald eyes. They were darker now -- they got murkier when he was upset, like his emotions could actually shadow his irises.

Those eyes flicked to George's arm. "Keep pressure on it. I don't think it's deep enough that it'll keep bleeding for long."

"I know. I'm fine."

"He was aiming for your throat."

"I know," he repeated, softer.

Dream turned, to gather his things before they set off again, his hands trembling only slightly, barely contained, barely controlled.

"Are... are _you_ okay?" George urged gently.

"I didn't want to have to kill him. But then he went for you."

It was hard to draw breath.

"Dream..."

He shook his head, tight-lipped. "Drax was my... ally, I guess. We dreamt of overthrowing the king and killing the entire court. He never did me any wrong."

Guilt swelling in the pit of his stomach, he tried, "I'm sorry. I got in the way."

Dream looked away, readying to leave. Good. This place felt cold, even under the sun's glare.

"That's three-two, by the way," he said, still not looking at him. "I saved you twice in the space of like, ten minutes."

Was this a way to evade the guilt? Were they just going to avoid this?

Perplexed, he said, "That should count as one point because it was _one_ guy."

"It's two points," he said with a note of finality, and any argument died in George's throat as he added, "I would do it again, to save your life."

"Why?" It was all he could think to say. 

Dream glanced over his shoulder, his dirty blonde hair seemingly gold in the daylight, though his eyes still carried that darkness, that heaviness. "You are... you are better than Drax ever was. Just generally, you are a good person."

George wished he didn't hold on to the words so much, wished that they didn't hit as deeply as they did. They hurt, to hear, because it was all he'd wanted to hear for the past three years of his useless goddamn life.

Still, even now, he did not -- could not -- believe it.

"I know you don't agree with me," Dream said dryly but fondly, "but you're just stubborn. You'll realise I'm right eventually."

George held his tongue, mostly because he was overwhelmed by Dream's words. Dumbstruck once more, by the man he was sent to kill. The man who just saved his life.

This was a _mess_.

He followed Dream away from the well, holding his bandages in place and periodically insisting to Dream's worried expression that he was _fine_ , it didn't hurt, he was okay.

They didn't discuss Drax, leaving it behind them like an ugly stain on their memory to be soon forgotten, except George could see how it bore down on Dream, how the lightness refused to return to his eyes even as they joked around.

About an hour into their slow-moving trek across the desert plains, George could no longer stand the hidden anguish behind Dream's sunny persona. George reached out with his hand, letting it brush Dream's own.

Dream had been silent, so George heard as his breath caught at the contact. 

Neither man dared to meet the other's eyes. Their hands intertwined silently, fitting as though they were meant to, one coarse and one soft.

The Thief and the Hunter.

Dream started humming as they walked on, and George couldn't help but smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey everyone!!! hope you enjoy this chapter, I've basically realised updates are every 4-5 days to anyone asking :)  
> feedback's always appreciateddddd <3


	17. Moonlight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> they need a space to spend the night, and find comfort in one another (in more ways than one)

"It's getting dark," Dream noted, his voice low and gravelly. He hadn't spoken in a while. He was afraid of scaring George away, who's hand was joint with his, warm and safe, stabilising.

Sure enough, his speaking was enough to make George let go. Dream concealed his disappointment well. Or, he hoped so. He wasn’t sure how obvious he’d be, without his mask. 

The Hunter's gaze was fixed on the horizon, where the sun was setting. Dream followed his gaze, squinting.

George said, "There are lights up ahead, maybe a village?"

The lights cast a blur against the murky blue and green horizon, smudges of yellow and warmth and hope.

Dream acknowledged how his limbs ached, at the thought of a bed. "Somewhere to rest, then?"

Then again, a part of him didn’t want to rest, for fear of the past few hours catching up to him.

"Yeah."

They'd pretty much left the vast expanse of sand behind to grass again, and it gave Dream a surge of optimism. Maybe in the village, he could ask for his missing family, see what the people knew. 

For the first time in three years, he was distinctly hopeful. And — he glanced at George, who was striding onward with beaming confidence — Dream was glad that he wasn't alone, for once.

 _Drax wouldn’t have left me alone_ — the intrusive thought snaked its way into his conscious, baring its fangs. He mentally batted it away, his shoulder blades tightening.

 _Later_.

He’d deal with that... what he’d done... later.

He was immersed in his thoughts, so by the time he’d come up with another distraction to keep from feeling the guilt, they had arrived. A village indeed, and rather run-down, although nice.

He let George take the lead, even as the Hunter cast paranoid and dubious looks around at each tower, each house. Like he was afraid of being watched.

When Dream asked, he explained in a low voice, “In each village, the King has an outpost. Like... a base. For me, and the other Hunters.”

That was probably classified. That was also probably massively dangerous, for them. For Dream.

Dream felt himself examining the houses, too. “Are there even any guards posted this far out?”

“Not that I know about.” 

Dream marked the concern shining in his eyes, though. Because George was convinced that his knowledge wasn’t enough now, not since he discovered the King was keeping things from him. It meant both men were clueless to what awaited them at the Kingdom... well, not that Dream ever intended to go back...

“Just in case,” George murmured under his breath, “you should act as prisoner.”

He grimaced. “How on earth am I meant to _act_ like—“

George turned swiftly and grasped Dream’s hands, pinning them together.

Dream blanched as those damned handcuffs made a return. He was quick, he was one of the best fighters in the Kingdom, and _again_ he let George bind him.

_How did this keep happening?_

“You still have these?”

George was all smiles. “Obviously.” 

He felt himself smirk back, mock-innocent. “Whatever for?”

Gratifyingly, George’s face flushed. The sight of it made Dream bite his lower lip, anticipant. 

He stammered, “In case you misbehave.”

Dream’s mouth opened wordlessly, brows rising. He couldn’t believe it — couldn’t handle the mere _implication_ of it—

George seemed to realize what he’d said and appeared twice as flustered.

He shoved Dream in the chest, making him stifle a laugh, then grabbed his cuffs and forcibly dragged him to one of the stone structures, letting the peasant’s eyes follow them.

He could barely keep the self-satisfaction from his face, so he didn’t bother trying to hide it. He grinned at every face they passed, but these villagers didn’t seem to recognize him or care for his predicament. No, in fact... they watched George, more, their gazes trained on the King's emblem on his armour... _Strange_. 

Dream let himself be pulled by George and smiled widely as he locked the door behind them. 

“For privacy?” he leered.

“Oh my gods, shut _up_.” The exasperation in his tone was tainted, just barely, with amusement. George loved this, the messing around, the _teasing_ — even if he insisted on denying it.

He was tugged up the stairs, obediently following George, marking the intricately patterned brick stones that made up the walls. For a poor village house in the middle of nowhere, the strange stone tower was well-kept.

Probably one of the nicest places Dream would ever stay in if they were staying the night... sure enough, the next room upstairs was a bedroom. With a bed. 

Just... one bed.

His throat went drier than the desert they’d just trekked.

George immediately let go of the cuffs. “There’s a couch downstairs,” he announced abruptly. 

Dream swallowed hard. “Let me guess, the big bad thief gets the couch?”

“You can have the bed.”

He stared at George.

George shrugged. “I don’t care. I’m just glad we’re warm.”

Silence enveloped, and Dream refused to let it take over, blurting, “So are you gonna take these off now that the show’s over?” He raised his clasped hands.

The other man just quirked a sleek eyebrow. “ _Whatever for_?”

A dry laugh slipped out. It always pleasantly surprised him, when George launched his own words back at him.

“I can’t sleep in handcuffs.”

George shrugged. “You managed fine before.”

“Are you serious?”

The bastard was actually _smiling_. “Yes. If you annoy me, I can just cuff you somewhere and leave.”

“ _Cuff me somewhere_?” He echoed, as George retreated from the room. “What is this, one of your power plays? A form of control?”

He wanted George to take the bait. He wanted George to flirt back, to argue, to stay. Just for a bit longer.

Coolly, he replied, “it’s not a power play, it’s just to annoy you. And clearly, it’s working.”

He answered him with a cutting glare.

Unfazed, George stopped by the door, barely glancing over his shoulder as he said, “I’m going downstairs. I’ll listen out for the door. Don’t break anything and...” he hesitated. Then sighed. “Just don’t do anything stupid. I’ll wake you up tomorrow. We can’t be far from your family.”

He nodded in response, felt words rising in his throat, things he wanted to say, things that he’d been storing for a while. It all threatened to spill, a tidal wave of emotion and honesty that he could hardly keep at bay—

But George didn’t linger, he didn’t so much as look at Dream. He clicked the door behind him, Dream heard the creak of every floorboard as he went down.

He glanced at the cuffs. They weren’t even locked. He shrugged them off, almost angrily.

He slumped face-down on the bed and glared into the darkness, the silence, letting every unspoken word fester within him, making his soul bitter and plaguing any chance of sleep.

Burying his face into the pillows, which were worn and dusty and soft, he exhaled a long and tedious breath.

All he could think about was how much he had wanted George to stay.

He wished he'd said something to make him stay.

•

There was a lantern on the ceiling, casting a delicate and calming luminosity, and it was all George could fixate on, to save himself from thinking about the man upstairs.

His breathing was uneven, in memory of all that had happened to them. The past ten hours played as a fever dream in his head, but nothing like the nightmares he usually endured, the ones that left him in a cold sweat. More... more _surreal_ , like he wasn’t sure he could entirely handle it, but he didn’t want to forget it, either.

He didn’t want to forget _Dream_ , he realised. 

Maybe he was feeling indebted. Dream had saved his life — yeah, three times, out of guilt or whatever, but the third time felt... it felt like a _choice_ Dream had made. One that George had allowed him to make. 

When George had seen that knife ricocheting towards him, a flash of sure death that he wasn’t even sure he wanted to avoid... he’d believed it, for a moment, all that the other thief had said.

_You're useless._

He was. He _was_. 

Innumerable times, he had been a hairsbreadth away from falling into Death's beckoning arms. Had wanted to, sometimes. Yet, time after time, he’d had to be saved. By Sapnap, countlessly, in the past. Now, Dream.

Dream... He had to kill his friend — his _friend_ — to save George, who’d got in the way. He was _always in the way._

He had forced Dream to choose; Dream had chosen him.

(Why, a small part of him whispered, hadn't he just let George die?) 

Just like Sapnap and Bad chose him. And suffered for it. Were still suffering for it.

And the King...

_This will just be one more failure for him._

It would be. As if George wasn’t a disgrace enough. Now having to be saved and looked after by the most wanted man in the Kingdom.

He didn’t know the tears had started, though the lamp’s glow above him had become blurry and smudged. George sat up, wiping his eyes, gulping more air, to ease the crushing pressure on his lungs, his ribs.

He wondered if he’d been too loud, gasping too much, or maybe it was the howling wind outside, rattling the ceiling, but... there was Dream, suddenly, at the base of the stairs, his green eyes feline in the gloom of the evening. It had been two hours since they'd said goodnight. He clearly hadn't tried to sleep, either.

“I’m s-sorry,” George stumbled over the word. Maybe because he wasn’t used to saying it and meaning it. Maybe because he was shaking. 

“Don’t be an idiot,” he said, softly. “Come upstairs.” When George shook his head mutely, Dream pressed, “please.”

There it was. The invitation. The affirmation that neither of them wanted to be alone tonight.

George gave in easily, rising on shivering legs. He noted that Dream had taken the handcuffs off because he was extending a hand to him. His fingers were bigger than his own, almost callous, and were always cold. He held them tightly as they ascended the stairs. 

Dream shut the door softly behind them, letting George sit first. Their thighs brushed slightly as Dream joined him, the springs groaning underneath their weight.

“I don’t blame you for what happened,” Dream spoke into the silence. 

George waited. He was scared to speak. His throat burned from the tears.

“He was going to kill you. I panicked. I panicked _so much_ ,” his voice trembled, the smallest of tremors, and the sound of it was more damaging than an arrow to the shoulder or a dagger to the arm. Hearing Dream like this, _seeing_ him like this-- George's fingers tightened on the duvet.

“I just couldn’t let that happen. I couldn’t. I— I guess I didn’t really think. I didn’t mean for Drax to... to die...” a long pause. George couldn’t make out his face, though it was clear that the words were hard to say, to acknowledge, even. “But I don’t resent you for what happened. I resent myself, maybe.” He scoffed harshly. “That’s not new, though.”

“I don’t resent you, either.” How could he? “I was wrong about you. This whole time, I have been.”

“I get that a lot.” He was trying to sound light. He was trying to run away, to his head.

George reached for his hand again and whispered, “You’re a good person, too.”

He was met with a long, dragging silence. Dream’s fingers eventually curled over his own and he whispered, “maybe we’re both just morally ambiguous,” and it actually made George laugh, despite the pang in his chest.

He felt Dream turn his head to look at him. The smudged darkness of the room, save for the lights glowing from outside, revealed little other than the sharp curve of Dream’s jaw, his cheekbones. The curls of his hair. The shape of his lips.

George’s free hand lifted to rest on Dream’s cheek, cupping his chin with a gentleness he saved only for him.

Lashes lowering, Dream said, “I’m glad you didn’t leave, that day in the caves.”

“Me, too,” he answered honestly. Selfishly. “Even though being with you seems to put me in such mortal peril.”

A wisp of Dream’s breathy laugh, on his hand. “You do that all yourself.”

George didn’t know how to express how he didn’t feel as though he was enough. He didn’t want to speak, so he let the words pass between them silently. 

Maybe, in the way his fingers caressed the softness of Dream’s skin, in the dark, maybe he understood. 

Maybe it — maybe this moment — was enough.

•

His hands were soft, softer than silk. He wondered if this was what royalty felt like. 

Every one of George’s touches was a phantom movement, here in the dark, and each one knocked his breath away. 

Dream’s fingers were curling around his hands in response, his vision losing focus as George’s thumb brushed his cheek.

George’s low voice flitted out of the darkness. “Tell me your real name.”

His eyes crinkled at the corners; he almost wanted to laugh again. So _this_ was the direction they were going in?

“That’s sensitive information." When George didn't push, Dream quietly added, "Plus, you’ll laugh.”

George’s thumb paused its movement. “I promise I won’t.”

Dream gently rested his own hands on George’s, bringing them down from his cheeks, and on to his lap. 

He imagined George’s face warming, but the Hunter didn’t move away.

“My name is Clay,” he said. As George’s lips quirked upwards, he nudged him with his shoulder. “You said you wouldn’t laugh.”

“I won’t,” he insisted, yet his tone was muffled with restrained amusement. “It's strange, though."

He fought back an aggravated sigh, huffing, "My mother loved pottery or something, I don't know, it's just what she wanted to call me--"

"No," George cut him off, smiling. "No, I just mean it's strange that someone so intimidating has such a gentle name.”

“Gentle?”

Dream's concentration was subsiding. He didn't even have the chance to gloat about being called intimidating, for George’s hands were slowly moving along his legs, to his thighs, further... he hadn’t expected this, now— he wasn’t prepared—

“Yeah," came George's breathy voice, "your hands are coarse, your entire _being_ is so destructive and... large. Bigger than me, even. Than anything.”

Dream was certain that in any other scenario, he would have picked at those phrases and mocked him, said something foolish like about him being ‘big’, but—

George’s hands had stopped at the top of his thighs, the tips of his warm fingers practically grazing the base of his hips...

Dream had stopped breathing. The anticipation was eating him alive, crawling up his throat.

He was so, so screwed.

George's voice was enthralling, anchoring him to the present. “But your lips are so soft. I don’t understand how your lips are like that.”

Dream still felt like the air was choked out of him, but he managed, somehow, to say, “What, because my words are so sharp?”

He admitted, “You _are_ good with your words.”

“I’m good with more than just my words,” Dream promised breathlessly.

George leaned forward and suddenly Dream was out of those words. He was out of _oxygen_ when George was this close to him.

He murmured, “Let’s find out,” and Dream's pulse jumped. George's smooth jaw grazed his own, their breath intermingling.

Dream was once again overcome by that incessant hunger, with his lips so close, and could barely stand it. He would _kill_ him, if he dared pull away again, he would absolutely--

George kissed him, hard, and all sensibility dissolved. He stopped fearing for a sleepless night, he stopped trying to tether himself to reality, he stopped everything -- everything but the present moment, and George's full lips, the feel of him, the _taste_ \--

It became impossible to focus on anything other than George's hands on his hips, or his lips on Dream's own. 

Dream broke the kiss to drag his lips down George's pale throat, his teeth scarcely grazing George's delicate skin. And when George let the smallest of moans slip, Dream was wholly unconcerned with manners, or patience. With both his hands, he shoved George on the bed, on his back, and recaptured his lips, hungrily.

George was more than happy to indulge him, and those sneaky damn hands of his were reaching lower, to the belt of his cargo pants.

"Cheeky," Dream growled, stopping him. 

When George just glared at him, face flushed, Dream redirected his attention to George's own trousers, purring, "me, first."


	18. Dusk/Dawn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> dream and george spend the night together

“Me, first.”

The low and tantalising rumble of Dream’s voice struck George, right in the chest, made his limbs go useless, especially as Dream's nimble fingers found the buckle on his trousers.

Moving with a speed that was likely driven by his incredibly bad patience, Dream tossed George’s trousers aside and shrugged off his own, and the two of them wrestled under the covers, limbs tangling.

George had his hands gripped on the back of Dream’s neck, was tugging him down, his fingers curling into his wild hair as Dream kissed him with enough vigour to leave him speechless — not that he would have anything particularly coherent to say.

Dream’s hand had snuck downwards, inching down George’s body with agonising slowness, with so much precision and gentleness that George had to hiss through his teeth, “ _get on with it._ ”

“Patience,” he murmured, his hands trailing with even _less_ speed.

George wanted to punch him. Deliberately cruel bastard. Fucking—

George groaned as his fingers met the line of his boxers.

“You like that?” He could imagine the smugness on his face, and the thought of Dream was obliterating all thought, all sense, as his fingers trailed lazily across his abdomen, caressing his hips, going everywhere _except_ where George wanted him—

“I hate you,” he breathed through the kiss, his heart crashing against his ribs. “I hate you so much.”

He felt Dream smile. He could imagine, distinctly, the curve of his lips as he smirked, the glow in his verdant eyes, the tilt of his jaw.

Dream’s fingers etched the rim of his boxers, so slow, so goddamn _slow_ —

If George survived this, he was going to _kill_ Dream.

His nails grazed his skin ever so slightly, and it took all of George’s willpower to stop himself from grabbing Dream’s wrists. But he could be patient, he told himself, almost desperately, even as he felt his breath shuddering, his vision going foggy.

And then, finally, finally— he made contact, gripping him hard.

Well. Fuck.

George was _so fucked._

He threw back his head as Dream stroked him beneath the covers, his hands deft and precise, leaving George a mess, heat blazing through his core. He felt like he would melt through the covers if he let this go on.

He was at Dream’s complete will— and he didn’t give a flying _fuck_.

George gasped out his name, his real one, and Clay hesitated, his hand stalling.

“ _Why’d you stop_ ,” George breathed, an edge to his voice that he didn’t think he was even capable of.

“Are you sure you want this?”

He seethed, “ _obviously_. And when I’m done, I’ll return the favour.”

“As in—“

“ _Clay_ ," he practically begged.

“Right.” Dream’s expression was tainted with obvious self-satisfaction. “Forgot how keen you were.”

George's composure snapped -- he grabbed his shirt and tugged him closer, their bodies flush together, and caught his lips aggressively, restlessly.

Clay hummed through the kiss, smug.

Let him be smug, George thought, he can be as smug as he likes, as long as his hands get back to—

He exhaled, a sharp breath of fervour, as Dream returned his attention to him, those long and skilful fingers getting back to what they _excelled_ at—

George arched his back as his pleasure built, an unbearable burning in his core. He grasped the covers beneath him, he was sure his knuckles must be white with the tension, he was going to--

Shuddering, he gasped out as his vision glazed over, his desire skyrocketing, taking over his entirety. 

He wanted to melt, to dissolve into the bedspread, to give Dream the control he obviously wanted, but his smug, “Hope you enjoyed,” was enough to taint his contentment, edging on an anger that seemed to heighten every desire he had. 

George fastened his boxers back on, stubbornly ignoring his drive for _more, more, more_ —

Dream was leering down at him, that self-satisfaction evident in the burning of his verdant irises.

Then — _then_ — he whispered, “your turn.”

•

Dream hadn’t really anticipated it to be this good, getting what he wanted from George, the sight of him spread helpless beneath him, completely at his will.

And when he moaned his real name, Dream didn’t know if he’d been breathing. Didn’t know if he’d ever recover, honestly, from the sound. 

It was too much, too consuming.

George was probably going to be the death of him.

Sure enough, George currently looked like a man with a thirst for vengeance, his hazel eyes glittering through the dark. Dream didn’t need light in the room to know he’d be all flushed and hot and bothered, sweat lining his skin. The thought of it was dizzying.

George had pulled his boxers back on, was glaring up at him.

Dream murmured, “Your turn,” pouring all of his ego behind the words, half-expecting to be clocked in the jaw for it.

Instead, George reached a handful of his shirt, his grip tight.

“I know you want me,” he paused, his voice a hush of sound, “to do the same.”

Dream’s throat tightened.

Yes. _Yes_. He wanted it. He wanted it more than anything, actually.

To have George’s grip around him, soft and velvet and fucking _royal_ —

Or his lips. His lips, and his tongue—

Dream clenched his jaw, hoping there wasn’t too much eagerness showing on his face.

George’s thumb grazed the base of his throat. “And like I said, you’re the one with no patience.”

“You _want_ to do it,” Dream ground out, without thinking.

“Oh, I do.” He smiled, slowly. “But I can wait, _Clay_. Can you?”

For fuck’s sake. The _nerve_ of this man.

He tried to say, smoothly, “Of course I can wait,” but his words got caught up in his shallow breathing, making him appear about as desperate as he felt.

George pounced at the opportunity to mock him, purring, “You don’t _sound_ as if you want to wait.”

Then, as if it couldn’t get any more painful, George’s free hand met his pants, found enough evidence of Dream’s arousal that he murmured, “You don’t _look_ as if you want to wait, either.”

“You’re the worst,” Dream groaned, already wanting the feel of George against him again, having felt that brief and taunting contact.

“Remember what you said," he said innocently, "about _patience."_

Always fucking _reusing his words_.

It was infuriating.

 _He_ was infuriating.

Dream shook off George’s grip and pinned him back onto the bed, kissing him harshly, showing him _exactly_ what he thought about his goddamn patience.

From the way George’s limbs went slack, muffling out a groan of pleasure, he was enjoying this. Even with Dream on top of him, he had some degree of control over him — and it was driving him mad.

Hands splayed either side of George’s head, his lips indulging in George’s, Dream could say he was pretty occupied, even fueled by the rage that he was being teased, _again_... so he wasn’t expecting more. He wasn’t, for instance, expecting George’s hands, freed beneath him, to slide under his boxers.

Dream broke from the kiss, breath hitching, heart leaping into his throat.

George was smirking up at him.

His hands swiftly pulled down Dream’s pants, leaving enough space to reach between his legs.

George was returning the favour, as he’d so coyly promised.

Dream felt his legs go weak, fingers tightly gripping the bedding. His vendetta for revenge was fading as fast as his mind, melting to nothingness — nothing but the feel of George’s warm hands on him.

The other man craned his neck to seize Dream’s lips, and he was happy to indulge, groaning through the kiss with enough relief to make George smug.

“Better?” George crooned at him.

He dragged his hand against him, so his response was more of a gasp than words, “ _Much better_.”

•

They didn’t speak for the rest of the evening (making _noises_ , sure, though all of it intelligible), just spent the night revelling in one another, until both were too weak to raise from where they lay, wrapped around one another. 

With the moon high in the sky, casting luminescent light on their flushed bodies, Dream was trailing lazy patterns on George’s flat stomach. He lay beside him, with George's face buried snugly in his neck -- the other man's eyes were dragging shut, heavy with exhaustion. Dream studied his eyelashes, how long and lovely they were.

He didn’t dare close his own eyes until he was sure George was sleeping, his breathing even and deep.

He thought about George’s nightmares, though, and stayed up a little longer than necessary.

Just in case.

•

Dream rubbed his eyes, rising sluggishly in the small bed, to find his arms still draped around George.

He breathed in his scent, pinewood and hazel, and it made him inclined to nuzzle into him, to stay exactly where he was. _Tempting_. 

With great effort, Dream rose from the bed, rubbing his face, vision blurred. He couldn’t shake the thought of George’s lips, his soft hands, the shape of his hips. And... other parts.

Outside, the sun was low, the horizon a smudge of bright yellow and cerulean.

Everything he’d intended to do rushed back to meet him, crashing away his sleepy longing for more time in bed, with George.

He was still on a mission. He was still a wanted man.

He stood, rocking on his heels. Thinking.

He wondered how long until George turned around and went home.

As he changed, grabbing his hoodie that he’d washed in the well, the thoughts hounded him. After this — the fooling around — surely George would only be more inclined to run away? Doing... _things_... with Dream went against all he stood for, after all. He was, quite literally, sleeping with the enemy. The prospect of it actually made Dream’s ego inflate, just a little. (Okay, maybe a lot).

He rubbed his temples, sighing.

George was sat up in the bed, his hair a mess. Glaring at him. “You were warm.”

“Hot?” He said through a grin.

He scowled. “Not what I meant.”

Fine. They could avoid it.

Civil, Dream asked as he tugged on his hoodie, “How’s your arm?”

George seemed to remember the bandages. “Oh. Fine. It really wasn’t a deep cut.”

“And your hands?”

“I didn’t hurt my hands.”

Dream flashed his teeth. “I meant because of all their _strenuous_ exercise last night."

George went pink. It was so easy, to set him up, make him flustered. Too easy, sometimes.

Stubbornly, George replied, “I don’t know what you mean.”

“You’re going to deny it then, are you?”

“What do you want me to do?”

This felt like _incredibly_ dangerous territory.

Dream blurted, “Admit you like me.”

“You, first.”

Huh. Well. _Touché_.

When Dream just looked aghast, George seemed to take this as confirmation, for he abruptly got up from the bed, snatching his trousers from the floor.

“See, I knew it,” he muttered, furiously tugging his clothes on. “You love to tease, tease, tease,” Dream bit his tongue, refraining from mentioning exactly how well George had teased _him_ last night.

“You fuck around and make fun of me, you tell me to come to bed with you and then you do— _whatever,_ " he stumbled over his rant, looking angrier by the second, "It’s all just a big game to you, though. Don’t think I’m stupid, don’t think I haven’t realized what you’re doing.”

Dream threw up his hands. “You think I don’t like you, seriously, after I literally stabbed someone for you?”

George was ruthless. “It’s not like you haven’t done it before. It wouldn’t mean much.”

It felt like he’d been punched.He opened his mouth. Closed it again.

In the silence, George’s harsh features dampened, as if he only just realized the bite of his words. “Okay, okay. I’m sorry.”

“I do like you,” whispered Dream, wanting to put the words back in his mouth, but too late, he couldn’t hesitate now. “But I’ll go if it makes this easier. You can go back home."

He shook his head slightly. "Your family.”

“I don’t need you to find them,” he reminded him curtly, “I can do this alone.”

 _But I don’t want to_ , he wanted to say. Why couldn’t he fucking say it? 

They held each other's gazes unflinchingly, across the room from one another, the bed between them a reminder of what they'd done. What they would leave behind, if Dream walked out of the door. He could see the conflict behind George's eyes, the hesitation. He was going to lose him if he didn't say something.

_I want you to stay._

•

_I don’t need you._

Fine. Dream was making himself perfectly clear, even though his words seemed to flit like daggers into George’s skin. It made George hate him, for even trying to opt out, for even thinking he could run away from this — from everything.

It was probably fair, though. George had wanted to run, too.

But then, before George could even discern what he was feeling, Dream’s words emptied into the silence, a gateway flooded open.

“Look, you can… I mean, we can ignore this. This whole thing.” Dream stood at the door with his hands by his sides, clenching and unclenching his fists.

George realised then, his bag was packed. His eyes were cautious. He was really going to go.

There was something wrong, aimless, about him, without a weapon.He was vulnerable, George knew, and not just due to the lack of defence.Still. He didn’t need a weapon, or armour, to give off an air of danger. His tongue in itself was capable of words that acted like swords. And his tongue was... good for other things.

Fuck. Should _not_ be thinking about that.

Dream continued, “We can pretend this whole thing never happened and… and I won’t spite you for it, I won’t even complain, because it’s okay if it’s not something that… it’s not something that you want to do.”

George didn’t reply right away. He’d never heard Dream so indecisive; it would be wrong to not drink in his words with deliberation and consideration.

His heart was beating at a pace that made his chest hurt, and his brain was scrambled with thoughts that clashed and collided with one another: voices that urged him to go to him, touch him, kiss him, or run away, _get_ him, don’t run away, serve the King—

He let the words out in one breath, “I don’t think I can ignore it anymore.”

Silence met him in response until George could only hear his heart, pounding in his ears. Dream’s eyes never left his own, even though George wanted to shrink into himself, away from his penetrating gaze.

“I don’t think I can ignore _you_ ,” he reinstated, throat going dry. “And I don’t think I’d even want to. There’s just... too much.”

The timid hope in Dream’s face wavered for a heartbeat. “Can you... do you think you could handle this? Me?”

George almost laughed. Could he, a measly and naive Hunter on the wrong side of the war, handle the most infamous and notorious bandit in the Kingdom?

“I’ve handled you so far,” he said softly.

“Barely,” Dream replied, but he was smiling tentatively, head tilted towards him; he liked what he was hearing.

George, for the moment, didn’t care for obligation. This -- whatever this was -- was far too enticing. It was more than just a distraction, not that he'd ever admit that... He would see Dream through to the end, until he was back with his family, and then... Well. They’d worry about that later.

Dream held out a hand. It was a surprising relief to see him sunny and smiling again. “Ready to go make some village friends, oh Great and Powerful Hunter?”

Right. They needed to ask around for Dream's family.

George swatted his hand away, amused. “Just because I like to kiss you doesn’t mean I’ll trade pleasantries with you. _Thief_.”

Dream was biting the inside of his cheek, trying and failing not to smile. “Oh, we’re acting like we hate each other again, aren’t we?”

“Yep.” George pulled out the handcuffs casually. He could've sworn Dream's pupils dilated at the sight. “Ready for some roleplay?”


	19. Captured?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> dream and george run into some villagers who have very unclear intentions...

George couldn’t help but notice the staring. Walking out of the base after collecting their things, after Dream had spluttered and blushed after his last comment—

_“Did you say-- r-roleplay?”_

_Flushing, George rolled his eyes. “As in, let’s fool the entire village into thinking you’re my prisoner. Not— not_ that _kind_ _of roleplay—“_

_He just looked incredulous. “Why didn’t you bring those handcuffs out last night?”_

_George huffed at him, even as his limbs felt lighter, weaker. “I was a bit occupied, in case you don’t remember!”_

_“You could’ve reminded me!”_

_He sputtered, “What, you wanted to use them?”_

_Dream stammered, “I mean— it would be— I guess, more interesting—_

_George turned away to conceal the heat on his face. “Well, I’ll put them on now and whatever happens, happens.”_

That had earned him a scowl, and Dream still wore that irritated expression as he trailed behind George, who had shackled the cuffs to his armour. Back to being his prisoner again.

They’d decided to put Dream’s mask on, as cracked and bloodied as it was, to further punctuate his identity, in case anyone was working for the King. To any spies, it would seem that George was simply doing his job.

Still, he felt the crowds of people watching them. He tried not to meet every eye that went his way, but it was impossible not to feel their gazes, searing through even the toughest parts of his iron armour.

And then he realized, suddenly, that was exactly what they were looking at. The King’s emblem: the red cross and crown.

Under his breath, he said, “this is weird.”

“Dunno, I’m kinda used to the cuffs, and you dragging me along.”

George rolled his eyes. “I meant the villagers, idiot.”

“Ohhhh.” Dream’s voice dropped. “Yeah, they’ve been giving us the stink eye."

“To me,” he corrected.

“You think they’re anti-King?”

George considered. “They can’t be. There’s a base here. We would have had trouble setting up if they opposed it.”

“I doubt it,” Dream said in a voice so cold that George turned his head. Dream raised his eyebrow, and went on, “Have you never noticed the lack of dissent? The King kills anyone who so much as looks at him wrong.”

George winced at the stark truth of it.

Dream muttered, “It’s a cowardly way of ruling, through terror.”

“It keeps control,” he argued, but the look on Dream’s face made him feel inclined to shut up. The obligation to defend the King was exhausting... and it possibly made him sound a bit like a prat, especially after everything.

They made their way to the village centre, where a market was set up, accommodating a myriad of stores that each sold respective products: food, herbs, spices, textiles, jewellery. Delicacies you rarely saw so far beyond the king’s land. George wondered where they'd got all this stuff, and thinking about it made him strangely uneasy -- he'd been expecting poverty.

A man, his face littered by scars, with his hair fastened up in a bun — so golden that it could rival Dream’s — had his arms braced on his stall, watching as the two men approached.

George cleared his throat. The village itself was eerily silent. “Hello. Sorry to impose. I have some questions.”

The store-owner narrowed his eyes -- ice blue. “Of course. But I may have some questions, too.”

“Um. Sure.”

“It has been a long, long time since the King has sent outposts here.”

George shifted on his feet. “I was hunting down a thief.”

The man’s eyes shifted to Dream. “Must be a very important thief, no?”

Gods, as if Dream’s ego wasn’t big enough. He steered the conversation back to what they were here for: “When’s the last time the King has checked on this place?”

He didn’t even hesitate. “Two years ago.”

Dream seemed to go still.

George frowned. “What were they looking for?”

“Nothing they could find.” When George gave a puzzled tilt of his jaw, the man said, “and wouldn’t you know this, being one of the King’s knights?”

Gritting his teeth, George said, “I’m looking for runaways. Two women. Missing for two years. Tell me what you know.”

The direct order seemed to work, for the older man has the sense to look intimidated, leaning back from the stall. “No one comes out this far. No one but passing travellers, and thieves.”

Well. Guess they were doing this the hard way. “I demand you tell me who, exactly, has passed through.”

Dream tugged against the shackles. Warning him.

George side-eyed him and saw there were other people inching closer to the stall, silently, as if attempting to catch scraps of the conversation. It was unnerving. It gave him a very, very bad feeling.

The man slowly responded, “I can't tell you anything, I’m afraid.”

“What is your name,” George ordered.

He lifted his head. Asking for names generally meant they were about to be passed to the King, but this man did not look at all afraid as he said, “Phil.”

“Do you know what happens to those who withhold information? Do you know that it is treason?” He hated the sound of his voice, the raw arrogance and command of it. But his patience was slipping. He had to help Dream, they were so close, and they had to know something.

A tug on the chains again. George ignored him.

“Well?” He snapped at him.

Phil’s eyes were cold, the fear replace with a terrifying calmness. “You are not welcome here.”

“George—“ Dream’s voice was urgent, sharp, and it made George’s attention waver, turning from the stall for just a millisecond, only to be met with a hard hit to the head, the clang of it sending stars in his vision before he collapsed, the world spiralling around him as he, embarrassingly, was knocked out.

•

Dream had _felt_ the peasants creeping upon them, behind them, around them. Their feet were silent, light. He almost didn’t see them coming, they were so smooth.

Then, too late, one had pounced forward, his warning coming too late, and George was knocked unconscious. In one hit.

Dream jolted, pulled down by the cuffs that were attached to his armour, falling to his hands and knees.Panic erupted, carving an open chasm in his chest as he watched, helpless, as the villagers closed in on George’s fallen figure, yielding to a wave of helplessness at the realisation that there was _nothing_ he could do—

As he scrambled for his sword, terror clogging his throat, he felt a shadow fall over him, realising in delay that they were now upon _him_ —

His aching arms stretched out to reach for George, before a hard blow to the back of his head sent him further into the dirt, making him choke on dust.

His brain was whirring too quickly for him to think coherently about what was happening, about the hostility they faced. He didn’t understand what provoked the villagers, maybe it was George’s snark, maybe they hated the King, or worse -- maybe they _worked_ for the King—

He hoisted himself up, to meet a knife to his throat. This was never going to get old.

It was Phil, the store guy, eyes wary. “You. Why does the King have you?”

“You don’t know me?” Dream said with a scoff, using arrogance to mask his panic. He was on the ground, subtly placed in front of George’s body, as if he could possibly protect him, even in this futile state.

“Obviously not.”

“I’m Dream. Y'know, the masked bandit?” When Phil just shifted the knife wordlessly, Dream _actually_ felt irked. He wasn't used to being a nobody. “You haven’t got any wanted posters out this far, huh?”

“Clearly not.” He nodded to the men and women around them, “take the Hunter, unshackle these two. This one’s with me.”

Dream felt strangers hands grabbing for the shackles, and the moment he heard that _click_ of the cuffs unlocking, he attacked. He threw his head back to headbutt someone, then elbowed the dickhead who'd had the nerve to reach for George, a primal urge to protect him taking over, a blinding rage that bubbled up inside him, tearing through his throat.

Yelling ensued, suddenly there were hands and weapons everywhere, someone was trying to grab him. Dream wrestled away, using the broken shackles to his advantage, the chains smacking into them, bruising their flesh—

He could break free and run, but _George_ — He had to make sure George was okay—

He punched a man in the face, another in the gut. They crumpled to the ground like rocks, he knew exactly where to hit, this was nothing.

Someone managed a hit to his jaw, knocking his mask clean off. Dream shoved them away, eyes roving for George, where was _George_ \--

Two younger men were desperately trying to tug George away from the conflict, hauling him under the arms. Both of them had eyes as wide as saucers, skin starkly pale against the terra-cotta buildings. Dream didn’t need a weapon. He’d taken down the adults crowding around him in just a few seconds. The two idiots holding George hostage knew it, too.

They were afraid of him.

He didn’t care about what he did about Drax at that moment. Because he was about to do the same thing, or worse.

“You’re dead,” he swore.

Took one step forward, focusing on nothing but the pounding of his heart, the rage boiling beneath the surface of his skin.

Then, a slash of pain, right between his shoulder blades.

 _An arrow?_ He almost laughed as he turned around to see Phil, holding a crossbow.

“Seriously? Are you that stupid?”

Phil said nothing, grim determination lining his dark eyes. “I don’t think I’m the fool here.”

Dream laughed then, the sound harsh and slurred— wait, _slurred_? His limbs felt weak and useless and incredibly heavy—

He yanked the arrow out, wincing, wanting to kick himself as he realized it was dripping with a black liquid — this was a poisoned arrow, likely laced with a sedative or… or… something.

Blindly, he charged after George, only to fall flat on his face as the poison instantaneously ebbed his strength away. Fucking hell, that was embarrassing.

As he sank and crashed into the sand, head reeling, he heard Phil’s faraway voice, “Keep the Hunter alive. There’s something I need to know."

•

Dream rubbed his eyes. And rubbed them again, to make sure.

Sure enough, he was sat at a very nice dining table. He was shackled to the chair.And across him sat the man from the stall.

“Hi, Dream. Masked bandit.”

“What the hell is this?” His eyes drank in the surroundings, the dimly lit room. They appeared to be in a fancy room, likely underground, for there was a distinct lack of windows, and it was rather stuffy.

“You’re my guest," Phil said.

“So, the shackles are just a cute accessory?”

Phil shrugged. “You were dangerous. That doesn’t mean you’re a prisoner.”

“I attacked five of your people,” he deadpanned. “Doesn’t that make me an offender of some type?”

“Seven,” corrected Phil calmly. “And normally, yes. But they're all okay, and I don’t think you realise that we share a common enemy.”

Dream narrowed his eyes. He was still catching up on the last two hours of his life. He honestly wished he had just stayed in bed with George.

“You _oppose_ the King?” he asked.

“Yes.”

Awkwardly, he said, “well, yeah, the King sucks.”

“Which leads me to the question as to why _you_ were protecting the King’s most favoured Knight.”

Dream rested his head against the chair. It was surprisingly comfy. “It’s a very long story.”

“Is he not your enemy?”

“Sometimes.”

Phil nodded like this made sense. “What is he at other times?”

He hesitated before saying, “he’s someone I trust.”

“Interesting.”

“Yeah, _interesting_ ,” he mocked. “Why am I here?”

Phil clasped his hands together, seeming to compose his thoughts before speaking. “I think we have more in common than you realise. The only reason I trust you enough to not kill you, and to explain, is because I know that was a charade that you and your Hunter friend were pulling.”

Dream stared at him, unsure of how to proceed. Had they been that obvious?

Then Phil said, “Normally we do what the King says, but seeing that Knight alone was too much of a blessing. He’s in our prison.”

Dream’s hands tightened on the table. Phil seemed to note this, for he went on, “Normally, in this event, we would question him. Maybe even kill him.”

Nostrils flaring, Dream tugged against the shackles, opening his mouth to argue, or yell, he didn’t know, but Phil wasn’t done.

“Nobody here likes the King. It seems, neither does this Hunter. But I had to be sure. You trust him.”

“And why trust me?” He dared ask, mostly hyper-fixated on his relief: wherever they were keeping George, at least he was alive.

Phil nodded to himself. “That’s actually what I brought you here, in hospitality, to talk about. The chains were merely a precaution.”

He waved his hand, one of the teenagers from earlier stepped forward to undo his cuffs. Dream stared at the kid. He had a nasty bruise on his cheekbone. Dream didn’t even remember hitting him, but he hadn’t been thinking much other than to get to George.

Once undone, he flexed his wrists, glanced at Phil. “Uh... well, sorry I attacked everyone then."

"You had a right to. And I apologise for shooting you with an arrow of weakness."

"Right. So..."

Phil interrupted, “Your name is not really Dream.”

He scoffed. “No.”

“It’s Clay.”

His heart dropped. Maybe George had said his name in the scuffle. Maybe he’d been interrogated.

At the shock on his face, Phil seemed to confirm something to himself. He stood, smiling brightly. He looked _way_ too happy for a broody village-dweller.

Uncomfortable, Dream blurted, “My name isn’t _that_ funny.”

“The Hunter was looking for two women who’d been running for two years. Two years ago, I met two women who had been running for their lives, seeking refuge from the King. They did not stop for long, they had a destination in mind, but they left your name. Just in case you came looking.”

When Dream said nothing, his hope too vast to handle, Phil added, "They looked so much like you. I had a suspicion when your mask fell off. I had to be sure."

Unconsciously, Dream’s hand drifted to curl around the frayed map in his pocket. He was holding his breath. “You know them? My--"

"I believe I do." He smiled, gently. "They are old friends."

Do you know… where they are?

“I can show you,” he promised, and something of the kindness in his gaze made Dream trust him. Or perhaps it was his blind excitement and desperation, the thought of finally finding his family was overwhelming.

Phil had already turned from him.

“Just one more thing.” He held his breath. “I… Can I please bring George?”

•

George had been pacing for what felt like hours, trying to shake off the throbbing pain in his head. He kept rolling his neck, pulling at his joints.

All he could think about was Dream.

He’d been knocked out and woke up in this cell — surprisingly spacious and clean, but a cell nonetheless — with no knowledge of what happened to Dream.

No knowledge of anything, really, other than the fact that the town had turned on them so suddenly.

They opposed the King, surely. George was their enemy, or perhaps they were just protecting their own interests, or maybe it was Dream they were hostile about...

He heard footsteps descending, the first sound he’d heard in what felt like hours.

He stood by the bars and grated out into the darkness, “whoever you are, we’re not enemies.”

“Enemies with benefits,” came that familiar voice. “Is that more accurate?”

George couldn’t help but smile, the relief of it easing away all tension in his muscles. “Dream?”

He emerged from the dark, hair mussed up and eyes alight. “Hey, Hunter. Got yourself into some trouble, huh?”

“I— well. Yeah. I thought you were... I didn’t know where you were.”

“They’re anti-King people.” Dream grinned widely. “ _My_ kind of people.”

Voice small, George said, “I thought you might be dead.”

“You really think a bunch of townspeople could kill me?”

When George didn’t laugh, Dream’s hand brushed the bars, finding George’s fingers. “I’m sorry for worrying you.”

George squeezed his hand, trying to smile through the lump of emotion clogging his throat. “So I’ve been locked up while you’ve been making friends up there?”

Dream scoffed. “Welcome to _my_ life.”

“You never get caught,” he pointed out.

He smirked. “Okay, but if I _were_ to get caught, that’s what my life would be.”

George’s stomach clenched. Yes, if the King got his hands on Dream, it would be a fate that made _his_ state look generous.

“Let me guess, you talked your way out of being imprisoned with me?”

“Well, that, and I don’t work for the King. I also” —he pulled out a set of old keys and jangled them obnoxiously— “ _talked_ you out of prison. You’re welcome.”

George rolled his eyes, biting the inside of his cheek. “I thought you might like seeing me locked up.”

Dream’s hands paused at the door. “Good point. Maybe I _shouldn’t_ let you out.”

“I was kidding.”

He actually looked disappointed, brows furrowing. “Shame.”

The doors clicked open, George felt his apprehension pick up. He was hit by the fact that Dream was _here_ , he was okay, they were both safe and... now they were looking at each other, that tension returning, a brewing storm between them.

He swallowed, hard.

Dream seemed to pick up on the restlessness between them, as a glow entered his lush green irises. He edged towards George, who still stood in the cell, even with the door agape, limbs frozen.

He stopped right in front of him, head tilted down to accentuate the height difference between them.

That familiar smirk graced his lips as he reached for George, hands cupping his cheeks. “You’re actually really short,” he whispered.

George scowled. “You’re actually really annoying.”

“And yet you still worried for me.”

He groaned out, pushing his hands away, “well maybe I won’t bother next time.”

“Unlikely,” he crooned.

Slowly, he’d been easing George back into the cell. Slowly, George found himself retreating inside again, his back eventually hitting the wall.

He looked up at Dream, pulse racing, the anticipation unfolding beneath his skin.

He barely had time to process the close proximity and all that was resurfacing, all the memories from last night, everything he wanted to _do_.

Dream was not as hesitant. His hands gripped his shoulders, shoving hard into the wall of the cell, kissing him with enough vigour that George almost slid down the wall at the way his knees so easily weakened.

“ _Mmfph_ ,” he mumbled through the kiss, “I guess you missed me too?”

It was ridiculous. They’d only been separated for an hour or two, but the lack of knowledge had _killed_ George, had driven him mad, and Dream’s answering growl told him he felt exactly the same.

George’s hands found Dream’s waist, tugging him closer; Dream’s own hands tightening on George’s collarbone, inching towards his throat.

Dream's teeth tugged ever so slightly on his lower lip, George had to fight back a moan, barely retaining whatever fragments of composure he had left. Dream's hot breath was on his face, his grip just shy of choking him; it was fierceness that George had no idea how to handle, he didn’t know how he’d handled him _before_ this, or how he’d be able to resist the temptation to reach lower, find the buckle of his trousers. He was about three seconds from letting him do whatever the fuck he wanted to him, even in this cell, when-- 

“Are you lot coming or what?” Another voice. It was familiar. The man in the village.

They broke apart, George stiffening and Dream’s grip instantly relaxing.

Humiliated, George whisper-shouted, “I didn’t know we were expected anywhere!”

Dream hissed back, “It’s not _my_ fault, you were saying all that stuff about you being locked up and I couldn't help myself!"

George punched him in the shoulder. “You’re an idiot!”

“I was distracted! Plus, I’m in a really good mood.”

Still trying to recover, and wondering if his face looked as flushed as Dream’s did, George raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

“I think they know where they are,” he said in a small voice, a tentative voice -- like he was afraid to be excited, afraid to be hopeful.

George gaped. “Your family?”

When Dream nodded briskly, George punched him again.

“ _Ow_! What?”

“You should have said! Why are we making out when we could be seeing your family!”

Dream smiled, the radiance of it almost making George speechless again. “Like I said, I got distracted.”

**Author's Note:**

> this story is ongoing, likely be around 25 chapters depending on how it goes, and updates will be weekly (every update is like 4-7 days).  
> thank you for the comments and support, feedback is always appreciated!!!!!
> 
> :-)


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